Eye of the Storm
by Seab1rds0ng
Summary: On top of living in a hornet's nest of Mage vs. Templar feuding, nursing a broken heart and dealing with her ex Anders' increasingly concerning behavior, apostate Avery Hawke finds herself blindsided by a forbidden attraction to the very man she should be opposing: Templar Knight-Captain Cullen.
1. Chapter 1

Avery Hawke sighed angrily as she glared out into the silvery line of the horizon. She'd come to this spot as a last resort, needing to flee the hushed, mocking laughter of the two men who haunted her home. She couldn't go to the Hanged Man, as she was sure Varric was itching to get started on all his "I-told-you-so"s. Most likely he'd be kind about it, wait until she brought the subject up, and that would only make it worse. She already knew perfectly well that everything was all her bloody fault, thank you very much. She couldn't go to her best friend's clinic, as he was one of the very people that she was fleeing. And he hadn't lived there for a while now anyway. She couldn't go to her own bloody bedroom because most likely there were two rutting men already occupying it.

She knew how this all had happened, but still it seemed so inconceivable. She had never really meant for it to be the three of them. It was an idle fantasy, nurtured secretly in the back of her mind. For so long it seemed that having just one of them was so far out of reach, it was no stretch of the imagination to just go ahead and make it both. When she proposed what she did out of drunken horniness and desperation, one late night when they all had bellies full of Isabela's rotgut whiskey, she'd been shocked when they both said yes. And for a while there… it had been _earthshattering_. It was every girl's fantasy wasn't it? To be fought over, adored and pampered by two irresistible, passionate men?

Fenris came first, appearing six years ago, his elegant neck and green eyes digging their way deep into her heart almost upon the very moment they'd first met. They had one perfect, mind-blowing night together sometime in the beginning, but apparently it had either been too mind-blowing for him, or not mind blowing enough. "I can't. I can't," he'd uttered, right before he fled. Leaving her still naked, embarrassed, abandoned and alone with a shattered heart. She thought they had embarked upon something real, something deep and special. But before he left in the middle of the night, he'd informed her that that was very, very wrong. They had not made love, they'd merely made a mistake.

Then came Anders. She had noticed him right away too, but he'd been so full of warnings about how he would eventually hurt her that for a little while at least, she'd listened. Plus she'd been so distracted by her persistent feelings for the beautiful, maudlin elf. Distracted… insecure… completely fucking heartbroken. It took much longer with the follow mage. Years and years of talking deep into the small hours of morning about mage rights, the abuses of Templars, memories of their childhoods. She'd been convinced that he had no interest in her like that. Spirit or no, he'd made no moves and remained the picture of restraint, while she pined away, yet again. When finally she got a wild hair up her ass and said "fuck it" she made a move herself. Shortly after, he confessed his long held feelings. Love, even. But followed up of course by yet more warnings.

Not long after that, a pleading Fenris returned.

That first night was… beyond anything she ever imagined possible. And then it turned into two nights. And then three. Fenris apologized, said he should never have left, that he had never stopped wanting her and vowed not to crush her again, the way he already had. Anders claimed she was the first that he'd ever dared to love, and that losing her would destroy him.

She had loved them both, separately first and then together. She probably should have just chosen one of them. If she had, she'd not be in her current predicament.

Before their mouths had ever met in a kiss, even walking through the city with Fenris and Anders in tow had proven to be an exercise in patience. Until the moment they wanted each other, they had openly hated each other, bickering incessantly the way she and Carver used to. But when the doors to the bedroom closed, all their disagreements seemed to melt away. And for a while Avery had found their growing affection for each other to be a huge turn on. Seeing Anders' skillful lips tease groans of pleasure from Fenris' lithe body had thrilled her in a way she had never known. She had learned what it felt like to be filled up completely with the attentions of two people that she loved. She discovered the titillating thrill of watching two men do to each other what she had only imagined in curiosity. She had found nearly everything they did to be irresistibly sexy, up until the point where it all fell apart. It took a few weeks, but slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, Anders had apparently fallen victim to the elf the same as she had.

Eventually she'd begun to feel edged out. She'd wake to the two of them sighing and groaning together, while she lay cold and untouched, fighting for her share of the sheets. She'd return from her bath to interrupt the midpoint of a scene of ecstasy, mouths hungrily devouring the other in what was clearly more than just a physical playtime. Their eyes were open, locked together in an expression well beyond just carnal pleasures. Had she been invited to, she would have joined in as she had in the beginning. She would have relished the sensation of four hands roaming her body, two mouths kissing her and each other, and hardened lengths prodding for entry into her depths. Hell, she would have enjoyed the attentions of just one of them. Whether in the middle or on the outside didn't matter, as long as she was somewhere. But her presence had become less and less essential, until one day it seemed to cross the line into unwanted.

With a stabbing ache in her gut she'd withdrawn more and more, avoiding going home when she knew they were there together, even as she acknowledged that it would probably just drive the wedge deeper, reinforce whatever it was that they had built without her. But it just hurt so much to watch. It hurt even more that they apparently never once considered the fact that it might hurt her. They seemed to assume that because she had been the one to extend the invitation to the two of them, that she sanctioned all of their activities. Or maybe they were just too wrapped up in each other to notice anything else at all. She'd felt that way herself, for a while.

In truth it wasn't her place to sanction or not sanction. They were both grown men, they could make their own decisions. But they had both professed their love to her, and they were in her home, eating her food and staining her sheets. She never would have attempted such an arrangement had she known it would break her heart and make her feel like an outsider in her own life. She should have known, though, shouldn't she? Wasn't this exactly what Varric had warned her about? That things could get a little too complicated? That it could all easily take a turn for the worse? He was right. It had been foolish and stupid to let it go this far.

She blinked back the tears as she watched the descending sun turn the sky gold, and she considered her options. She'd need to walk home soon, and something there needed to change, _had_ to change. She couldn't go on the way she was any more, couldn't bear the knife twisting in her heart, her home turned into a place she dreaded instead of her sanctuary of peace among the stinking chaos that was Kirkwall. She could confront them with an ultimatim, though those never went well. No good relationship should require one, so she might as well just break it off altogether if she was going to go that route. And that seemed like the best option anyway. She could evict them both from her home. She'd still be left alone, with little chance of ever reclaiming what she had been so reluctant to give up with either of them, but at least she'd have her own space back. Her bed, her kitchen, her washroom. If they only wanted each other, fine. It hurt, it fucking _killed_ … but having to watch them from the outside was the worst part of it all.

Or she could put more effort into trying to be a part of the group. She'd never expected that being kept in the loop would actually take so much effort. But in truth, she had also never expected that they'd even condescend to join each other in bed at all, much less would come to prefer each other over her.

What would happen if she did just sit them down and talk to them? Be honest about her feelings? The thought of laying herself bare, the thought of the pity sex she'd probably get out of it for a couple days, at least until they thought it was safe enough to return to what they really wanted, was almost more depressing than just being alone. No, not almost. Definitely more depressing.

Either option was incredibly painful, but solitude certainly felt preferable to pity sex and hollow professions of… whatever. It was clear what they wanted. Any one who'd seen what she'd seen would know.

She had considered standing, beginning the arduous, dreaded walk back home to do what needed to be done, but before she could do so a body dropped down beside her, the metal armor that adorned it clanking softly as it settled. She blinked at the figure for longer than she should have needed to, confused.

"Knight-Captain Cullen?" she asked, almost disbelieving her own eyes.

Not only was it a surprise that anyone knew about her hidden spot at the docks, a little ledge that curled around the waterside of a building, perfectly hidden unless you knew exactly where to look, but she had also never seen the strung out looking Templar anywhere but at his regular post in the Gallows. There had been the one time on the mountain that she confronted him appearing to abuse one of his Templars and she'd stepped in angrily. And then promptly ate crow as the Templar transformed into an abomination on the spot. But still, he seemed so displaced, sitting there so naturally. And with all the Templar crack downs that Meredith had been demanding, it was a wonder that he'd had a free moment to come there at all.

He said nothing, his eyes distant and glassy as he watched what seemed to be the same place in the horizon that had held her own gaze for at least an hour already, if not more.

"Hawke," he said simply, not turning to look at her. His voice sounded flat, damaged.

Despite the protection of her newly won title, the presence of a Templar continued to raise her hackles almost purely out of habit. Cullen was one of the few who seemed to actually converse with her with a shred of humanity when she paused at his post in the Gallows, but to see him so far from his usual station raised a peal of panic in her chest that she couldn't help. Who was he pursuing out here? For the Knight-Commander himself to be involved, it must have been something major.

She said nothing else, her heart beginning to beat louder and louder in her ears.

"You can relax," he said finally. "I'm not here in any official capacity." He sighed again, lowering his face into his hand to rub forcefully at his furrowed brow.

"This is my spot too. I found it during a raid a few months ago. It's a nice place to come be alone for a while."

He paused then, and all she heard over her heartbeat were the creaks of shifting wooden boats and the gentle lapping of water against the building.

"You took a boat across the channel just to come have a few minutes alone?" she asked.

"Not exactly," he answered, lifting his head back up, his lids slowly unveiling his bloodshot eyes. "Just pretend I'm not here. I'll do the same."

Just pretend a Templar is not sitting right there? He could do nothing to her, of that she was certain. Her connections up high were too vast now. He's lose his post most likely, at the very least. If not also his head. But still. He was there.

A deep shaky breath, and palms pressed into her eyes until blue stars erupted in her vision helped a little. He was quiet, unmoving. She couldn't even hear him breathe. It had obviously been too much to expect that her little hidden spot remain her spot alone. But of all the people in Kirkwall to share it with, she could never have guessed that it would be with this particular man.

She took another deep breath, the emotional knife in her gut still present and throbbing. Maker, why was it so difficult for her to just keep some air in her lungs? At some point she would begin her return home, and complete what would most likely end up a double break up. She could not envision a scenario in which either of them chose her. Not after all she had seen.

She turned her attention back to the undulations of the reflective water, flashing a kaleidoscope of evening colors.

How quickly things had changed. She had gone from the peculiar heartbreak of having to choose one love over another, to losing both. No more warm brown eyes laughing with her over mugs of tea. No more quietly curled lips as Fenris flashed her one of those rare smiles that for so long he had saved just for her. No more warm bodies beside her at night, fitting into nooks and angles and making her heart feel like it could burst with love.

She felt a hot tear slip from her eye and she blinked it away, angrily, not wanting this man to see her continue to weep. But Cullen hadn't even glanced in her direction. Out the corner of her eye she could see that his shoulders were slumped, his face sallow and grim. Whatever weighed on him seemed to be at least as heavy as her own troubles, judging by his expression. She took another deep breath, still feeling as though she had been forgetting to breathe. Her body ached for air. Ached for something unnameable and, apparently, unachievable.

Of course Cullen had troubles. He was number two to Meredith, and the relayer of outlandish orders, on the front lines as boundaries were repeatedly crossed, as prejudices and sensitivities clashed. Anyone with a shred of sanity, even the most devoted Templar in the order, would be burdened by that position. Or at least they _should_ be.

For a moment she found herself stunned by her flash of empathy. Sympathizing with Templars was generally not an impulse that she gave in to. Maybe it was the struggle that was so visible in his eyes. That was good, Avery thought. That must mean that Cullen was having an attack of conscience. As he should. They all should.

But Maker did he make it look painful.

She leaned back against the wall behind her and surrendered herself to her own knot of emotional anguish. A part of her didn't want to do what she had to do, because it would mean the end of a future that she had clung to for over a year now. Another part of her couldn't wait to strike out at the two men who had caused her to hurt so deeply.

The aching welled up, rising to a point that forced a sob to her throat before she had the awareness to stop it. Had Cullen not been there, she wouldn't have bothered trying to. She gulped it down trying to clear up the tears by forcing her breathing to be steady, turning her face away and grimacing the tears back. Andraste's ass she was pathetic.

For a moment Cullen seemed released by whatever weighed on his mind, and his honey colored eyes flicked toward her. She looked away, hiding from his view. Why did he have to be there now, of all possible times? This was her spot. This is where she went to be sad by herself, where she could be weak. Where she could be an actual human being, and not the indomitable, infallible Champion of Kirkwall.

She winced, preparing herself for the inevitable prodding questions about why she was crying, what was wrong. And the usual proffering of countless obvious and useless suggestions about how to magically make herself feel better.

But the seconds ticked by with no word spoken. Instead a shaky hand landed upon her back, pressing gently between her shoulder blades. She let her cramping muscles loosen slightly under his touch as the questions she anticipated failed to come.

She breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to explain was that she had been in love with two men, and in her inability to choose either, she had inadvertently encouraged them to fall for each other. What a stupid problem to have. What a stupid, agonizing, depressing, annoying, embarrassing problem to have. Especially on top of everything else. If she never had to speak about it to anyone in her life, she would be eternally grateful. She would never step foot in the Hanged Man again if it meant avoiding that conversation forever, with Varric or anyone else.

Against her better judgment, she found herself leaning into his touch. For whatever reason, they had both ended up in the same place during a moment of emotional turmoil. And they were both just people, weren't they? People with shitty positions of responsibility in a shitty city that was on the verge of burning itself to the ground.

But then, she also didn't need yet another man to come and complicate her life, regardless of the circumstances. She should just swear off men altogether for a while. Men and elves and women and people and love and EVERYONE, every damn soul in this city. Concentrate on herself, on what exactly it was that she was working toward in all her efforts. There had to be an endgame, right? Now that the Qunari were gone, the duel with the Arishok still fresh in her mind and in the still healing scars on her body, there were other issues to deal with. The increasingly unhinged Meredith was an obvious one, so was the widespread oppression and abuse of mages across so much of Thedas. To that end, her involvement with both Anders and Fenris had complicated her ability to see either the mage or Templar sides as clearly as she could. Both were fanatics about their position, and both were capable of making excellent arguments. But neither of the two sides was beyond reproach. It was all too confusing at times. Yet another reason she needed to just free herself from both of them. Their influence on her was too strong.

She stiffened her back in response to her thoughts, pulling away from Cullen's touch, and she felt the weight of his hand disappear.

Looking over to him, she began to run through her mind all the things she should say to the powerful Templar.

 _Get out. What are you even doing here? Why do you do the dirty work of that psychopath? Don't you have mages to harass somewhere?_

But something in his face silenced her before she even spoke. Cullen seemed just physically…wrecked. The bags under his eyes always had a tired purple sheen to them, and he always seemed much more gaunt than she would have expected an otherwise muscled warrior to appear. Perhaps it was just the light, she thought. It had fully reached that golden hour just before sunset, where everything was cast in warm glow. She would have thought that'd be an antidote to the sickly purple and ashy pale that infected his skin, but it apparently wasn't. She knew that the lyrium addiction thrust upon most Templars became a heavy burden that wore harshly on their bodies. That on top of all the stresses of just being where they were, when they were…. What person wouldn't struggle?

He finally became aware of her staring at him. Her mind raced for a moment as she contemplated whether she should say something, but she chose not to. She had been grateful for how little he said to her thus far. He'd promised to pretend she wasn't even there, so he must have truly wanted the same in return. She broke her eyes away from him, forgetting for one blessed moment about her own troubles as she considered his. Lyrium, Meredith, throngs of desperate blood mages, the criminal element trying to capitalize on the chaos... And her? Surely the apostate Champion of Kirkwall was one of his biggest pains in the ass.

For some reason she couldn't quite discern, she found that she was the one to raise a hand in comfort. He had attempted it for her, despite who and what they were. And Maker did he look like he needed it. He looked on the brink of complete collapse. But his back, like the rest of him, was clad in cold metal armor. He could only have felt nothing as her hand sat there ineffectually. She considered moving her hand to back of his neck — the only exposed piece of flesh besides his hands and his face — but that just seemed so... inappropriate. Or she could just forget it, and pretend like she hadn't even bothered. Surely he wouldn't want the soiled hands of a mage upon him anyway. She opted for the latter.

"Are you… okay?" he asked finally, his voice sounding thin and tinny. The question was a surprise.

She sighed, unable to find an answer within her muddled brain. She could lie. Insist she was just fine, the same as she would have with anyone. Except he had already seen her tears. It was abundantly clear that neither of them were in the healthiest emotional state at the moment.

"I am alive. That is the best that I can claim," she answered. Almost imperceptibly, his head nodded.

"Same here," he whispered.

Avery let her gaze roam over his face again. He looked so different away from his post. Weary eyes the color of honey, a two day old stubble coating his jaw that looked several shades darker than the disheveled hair framing his pale face. The line where his lips met flowed in a surprisingly pleasant set of curves.

His hand found his way to her back again, and she closed her eyes as she melted into the touch. How long had it been since either Anders or Fenris had touched her? Two weeks? Could that be all? When had she become such a pathetic lout that two weeks of no affection had her feeling so starved? Wasn't she supposed to be a strong woman who was perfectly capable of taking care of herself? The Avery that had fled Lothering would be appalled.

"This is not going to end well," he sighed.

"This?"

"This city. This… whatever this all is. This almost rebellion? This campaign waged by a madwoman? Mages are turning to their own desperate means. We're stretched so thin that my men are breaking left and right. Cracking under the strain of it and doing… things. Horrible things. We are all, every one of us, is currently marching toward a sea of our own blood."

Avery nodded quietly. The throbbing ache in her abdomen was joined by the shaky, almost unbearable anxiety that regularly fired up as she walked through Kirkwall now. Everyone was looking at each other with suspicion, ready to react. Meredith had gone beyond making harboring apostates a hangable offense, and made merely having knowledge of an apostate and not reporting it a crime.

She felt an intense pang of sympathy for the Templar, a strange, forbidden emotion. And yet here he was, comforting her. She shared his fears, his concerns about the city. She harbored a significant number of others due to her own status as an apostate, but what had brought her here wasn't really any of those things. Not this time. This time it was sadness over two stupid men. He had real problems that he was worried about, that they all should, but still _he_ was comforting _her_.

His hand felt heavy and warm on her back, and without realizing that she had even changed position, her head came to rest upon the cold metal that covered his arm. She'd had a theory for much of her life that you could tell a lot about what a person wanted by what they offered. He must have thought a hand on her back would be comforting to her, because that is what was comforting him.

Wanting to return the kindness, she raised her own arm to him again, moving it up to the back of his neck and lingering there, afraid to touch the golden skin above his metal collar. That was such an intimate place to touch, and probably would have more of a confusing effect than a comforting one. Instead she squeezed him toward her in an awkward little hug. She tried to resist patting his arm. Maker she was failing terribly at this. Whatever this was supposed to be. This visit to her ledge had begun a solitary thinking session, whereby she worked out what to do with Anders and Fenris. Where she raged and cried in private. Now it was… something else entirely.

His eyes met hers again for moment, and she saw flecks of gold that were glowing the same color as the increasing orange of the evening sky. She also saw a roiling storm of anguish, a bottomless pit of memories and experiences that seemed to war within him. She looked away quickly, startled by the intensity she saw there.

She toed at the ledge below the makeshift bench with her boot. She really should get home before the sun went down and she was walking home alone in the dark. Most likely she would slip through the secret tunnel that began beside Anders' clinic, but even just the walk from the docks to that part of Dark Town wasn't a good idea after sundown these days.

His hand slid from between her shoulder blades to encircle her body completely, and though his was composed of hard, cold armor, she sighed against him. For a fleeting moment she noticed how good his touch felt and she closed her eyes, thinking that accepting a moment of comfort, even one from an assumed enemy, wasn't the end of the world. She couldn't put her hand on his back the way he had, but maybe doing this for her was comforting to him too. Yes he was a Templar and she a mage, but they were both just people. Her body relaxed. Just a moment, she thought as she turned toward him slightly, angling herself against the armor so that its ridges didn't dig into her back. For just a moment, and then she would excuse herself and finally walk home.

She almost jumped as lips met hers and they were warm and soft, brushing against her mouth with a gentle tentativeness. The ticklish shiver of it caused her to habitually tilt her head and open her mouth, allowing their lips to come fully together, gently locking into a tender caress. A warm tongue slid onto her own and she tasted the tang of metal, the familiar flavor of lyrium. Her nose was filled with the musky seawater scent of man and she sighed as she returned the slow, languid movements of his mouth.

With a jolt she realized what was happening and pulled back abruptly.

His eyes were wide, reflecting back the same shock that she was feeling. How had that even happened!? He pulled his arm back with a repulsed jerk. No, this was absolutely not something that was supposed to occur. It was bad enough that she was pining over two men who no longer wanted her, making her feel as sad and pitiful as she had ever felt in her life, but this was utterly beyond the pale. She needed to simplify her life, simplify! Not complicate things further. This was precisely that.

She stood, stepping quickly around him and letting her feet carry her over the pathway, up the stairs and back in the direction that would eventually lead home.

Her pace was brisk, fueled by the outrage she railed against herself. What in the bloody hell!? No more men! She would return to her mansion, oust her traitorous lovers, freeing them to go gallivant wherever and however they chose, as long as it wasn't in her bed, in her kitchen, anywhere that she had to watch. She would no longer abide being the enabler to her own heartbreak. She walked furiously, feeling her determination grow with every step. No more!

She shook the memory of the kiss out of her head. What in Andraste's balls had even happened!? Had she done something to make him think she wanted that? Was it how she turned toward him? They were only comforting each other weren't they!? And Cullen!? She had talked to him hundreds of times and never, not once, had it ever crossed her mind to do something like that.

Her head was shaking furiously as she spoke to herself, some words emerging from her mouth, some flying through her mind faster than her voice could catch them. That was only a strange, momentary lapse in judgment, born of two people in pain. Right? She couldn't even remember who kissed who, but it didn't matter. It shouldn't have happened, it wouldn't happen again, and it had meant nothing. She was a mage and he was Templar. That alone was enough to disqualify it as anything at all worth thinking about. It was as good as having never happened at all.

She realized with a start that she hadn't even bothered with the secret entrance, and had instead crossed Lowtown to climb the steps leading to the upper level of Kirkwall. But there was still a glow from the last tendrils of sun that had yet to sink beneath the horizon, and if she had passed any questionable characters they had obviously had the good judgment not to bother her.

She quickly crossed the last several feet to her house, and was brought to a halt just outside her door, as the angry shouting voices within burst through and spilled into the shadowy courtyard. Fenris was snarling and Anders' eyes were wild and black. They faced off silently for a moment, the air between them saturated with tension. Avery's heart jumped into her throat, and she considered the possibility of having to jump between the two in order to prevent them from killing each other.

Of course they had come back to this. Of course they had. She felt that center of pain in her gut intensify and throb as she watched them. Even in scenes of violence, even when they were about to be at each other's throat, they were wild and beautiful. But once again she might as well not have been there at all.

She decided not to wait to see what happened, what else they might have to say to each other. It didn't concern her anyway. Consider this the first cord she would cut. She turned to enter the door to her home, closing it firmly behind her and flipping the lock, leaving her two former lovers out in the night.


	2. Chapter 2

With her home in Hightown empty most of the time, it took three days before she ventured back to her ledge at the docks. But eventually she'd grown tired of staring at the same old walls… in her room, the library, the Hanged Man. Somehow it only took three days to learn every nick and dent, every scraped off piece of paint and cobweb. She stalked up and down the stairs, played fetch with Brutus, drank herself into oblivion alone at the Hanged Man. She'd managed to continue to successfully avoid the one conversation with Varric, and failed to actually have the other conversation with Fenris and Anders. They simply wouldn't stay in the same room together long enough, and would both disappear for long stretches, probably not coming around because they assumed the other was there. The whole predicament had only grown more and more tiring.

Only Fenris had actually approached her with any attempt to have a real conversation, letting himself into her bedroom just after she'd gone to bed the first night.

"We've been neglecting you," came his gravelly voice at her ear as he climbed in beside her. She hadn't heard him enter her room, hadn't felt his weight on the bed until the moment his voice cut through the dark. He slid an arm under her neck and settled his body against hers, trailing light fingers up her back.

"You have every reason to be upset, but for what it's worth, I am sorry."

A chill traveled up her spine as his lips caressed the sensitive skin of her neck, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating into her ear. Her heart ached to have him so close.

Avery swallowed hard. She had decided not to have the conversation with them separately, preferring that they all be together so that she would only had to do it once.

"Well it's clear that you two… have found something together," she said, feeling as though she was floundering for words.

"Perhaps. But I am no longer sure what. Anders is special, but also… infuriating. Half the time I want to bludgeon him to death with his own staff."

Avery said nothing.

"Shall I? Then it could just be me and you, Hawke," he teased, nibbling her earlobe gently. "That would make both our lives a little easier."

She thought a moment before answering.

"That's not what you really want Fenris," she said, trying not to let her voice break. "Try to fool yourself, but you don't fool me." His arms slid tighter around her and he exhaled heavily. But he didn't deny it.

"Has he talked to you about anything recently? About something he might have going on?" he asked.

Avery shook her head sadly. "I don't actually remember the last time he and I had a real conversation," she answered, but before she completed the sentence she realized it wasn't true. The last real conversation they'd had was about how he'd discovered that the Templar they'd killed two years ago, Ser Alrik, had been using some of the girls he'd turned Tranquil as sex partners. It was a disgusting revelation. The girls were not capable of true consent, making it no better than rape. Or sexual slavery. Anders had gotten so upset during the conversation that Justice made an appearance and it took nearly an hour to calm him down enough to let Anders back out again. For the rest of the night his eyes would intermittently get that strange, illuminated sheen of blue, presumably whenever he was thinking about it. Even she'd been close to putting her fist through the wall, and had accidentally frozen the drapes into a crunchy ice sheet. That had been weeks ago.

Fenris' hand came up to smooth back her hair, and she felt a little shiver spread over her. Part of her wanted to shrug him off, scoot over to her own side of the bed and tell him to leave her be. She'd hoped that her desire to be alone had been clear enough when she locked them both out of the house, but apparently it would take more than a door slammed and locked to get her message across. Of course, they had probably barely noticed that too.

But part of her still thrilled at his touch. Despite her mental protestations, his body was impossibly warm, and his caress was soothing. And dammit she liked the way he felt nuzzled firmly up against her, even though this was exactly what she said she was going to swear off completely.

"Where is he now?" she asked. If he'd just come home, then she could get this over with once and for all. Preferably before she turned around and begged Fenris for… for what? To love her more than he did Anders? That was absurd. Tears welled up behind her eyes again as the aching traveled up her chest, settling along her breastbone and filling up the space where her lungs were supposed to be. Once again she found herself struggling to breathe, and struggling even harder to keep all her emotions contained so Fenris wouldn't notice. Thank the Maker it was so dark.

"I don't know. He mentioned something about that mage underground, but I think there is more to it than that." Fenris continued, his fingers fidgeting absentmindedly against her skin.

"More to it?"

"Yes. I'm sure he's hiding something. But I'm not in any position to know what. I thought… I thought maybe you might know."

She sighed sadly. So that was the real reason he was there.

"Aren't you in a position though? You have seen him much more often than I have, and for quite a while now. Do you not talk to each other or do you just…"

"We don't speak about magic. When we do it just... well it just ends up the way you saw today," he said. "But that's nothing new."

"Anders not speaking about magic? How does he survive?" she smirked.

"By running off to those he can speak to about it I suppose," he said.

Right, except for her. Were they not even friends any longer?

Fenris continued on, but Avery barely heard his last words as she concentrated on her breathing, trying not to choke on a sob. A voice in the back of her mind told her to just let it out, let him hear it. Let him know how she was being affected by everything. How could she expect them to be open with her when she wasn't being open with them? But she couldn't deny that she wanted to hold onto her anger a little bit, so she could throw it into their faces when the time came. Maybe that would stop her from becoming more of a sobbing, pathetic mess. Anger was just so much more preferable than…. This. Feeling utterly rejected, unwanted and ruined. Again. She'd had enough of that the first time around with Fenris, and now Anders too.

Fenris at least was there, with ulterior motives it turned out, and probably only for the moment anyway. But still. He was there. Was it worth it to take the little snatches of him when she could, knowing she'd be left in the cold again soon? Then she'd at least have the memory of one last night with him. It would be something to hold onto during all the empty nights to come.

No. She'd already made up her mind about this. Hadn't she?

And anyway, did she really want a last night with him knowing that he was thinking about and wishing for someone else?

From the depths of her mind came the memory of the strange kiss she'd shared with Cullen. It had come out of the blue and felt nice while it lasted, though even that wasn't really about her. She could have been anyone. When had she become so…. expendable? Passed from man to man to be used and then disregarded? Even among the men she actually loved. She might as well have been one of Alrik's Tranquil girls.

She could make this last night different. People were always so eager to take what they wanted from her, but this time she could be the one taking. She could flip Fenris over, climb on top and use him the way she was constantly being used.

She sighed a shaky breath. That wasn't really what she wanted either. Not really. She just wanted things to be simple. People who love each other take care of each other, don't they? They're there for each other, they listen, they notice when the other is hurting. That's what love was supposed to be, and that wasn't all crazy complicated. It wasn't revenge sex or weeks of outright neglect.

"Well he has seemed to have a lot on his mind. The few times I've seen him, anyway,"she finally answered, managing somehow to keep her voice steady.

Fenris sighed again and rolled onto his back, away from her.

She could practically hear the gears in his head working, but she laid there silently, feeling herself begin to get her emotions back under control. It would be so much easier to just be angry, instead so blighted sad.

Eventually he rolled back in and spooned himself against her again.

"I miss you," he breathed.

"I miss you too," she answered truthfully.

When she woke later in the night, he was gone.

She was careful this time, surveying the alley behind her before she slipped around the ledge to her hidden spot. The last thing she wanted was for yet another person to discover it. If they did, the place would become hot property very quickly, with its wide open view of the water, and how it was far enough away from the actual wooden docks to be clear of the smell of rotten fish and moldy decay. It'd probably be taken up by a fence as an out of sight place to sell stolen goods, or maybe just a homeless refugee looking for a quiet place to sleep. Not that it would be ideal for that. There was only about three feet of clearance between the wall of the building and where the ledge dropped off into the water. She might have slept there herself on a few evenings if she hadn't worried about accidentally rolling straight off into the sea.

When the coast was clear, she stepped around the corner and onto the ledge, absentmindedly patting the little satchel at her hip that carried the lunch she'd packed. For a moment her heart skipped a beat as she wondered whether Cullen would be there, but she was glad to see that it was empty. She couldn't deny that she'd been thinking of him over the past three days. She'd never seen him looking so… human before. It was difficult for her to muster up sympathy for most Templars on any given day, most especially for Kirkwall's Templar prince, next in line to the throne of the Order of Mage oppression. Regardless of how civil he had always been to her, she'd always kept a deliberate distance. But those tense moments sitting next to him had opened her up to the reality of how difficult his life must have been too. And that sympathy had lasted long after she'd run home, long after she stopped shaking her head over the strangeness of that unexpected kiss. It had stretched on into that very afternoon, where she found herself packing extra food in her lunch. Just in case she had someone she might want to share it with.

Or perhaps she had just genuinely gotten weak. This whole stupid business with Fenris and Anders must have broken more than just her heart.

She sat on the little makeshift bench up against the wall and exhaled heavily. Someone must have known about the place at some point to put that there, though by its appearance and rickety instability, it was a very long time ago. Almost immediately she felt some of her stresses drain out of her as she relaxed into her solitude. It didn't quell the near-constant emotional knot in her gut, but the horizon and the glinting water was certainly nicer to look at than the walls of her home. The very recent memories of Fenris and Anders tainted the place, making her uneasy there even when alone. It would get better with time, she knew. At least if she could ever manage to actually have the all-important conversation, and reclaim the place as hers again.

Compounding her frustration was the fact that there had been little work available in the city lately beyond petty crime-fighting, and she found herself growing positively restless. At least if she had something to do she could work out some of her pent up energy, stop it from turning inward and becoming so much blighted sadness. But most people in Kirkwall seemed to be so on edge under Meredith's tyranny, as well as the increasing presence of blood mages that cropped up in response, that every major player in town seemed either to have high-tailed it out of there complete, or were making quite an effort to stay out of sight.

In what felt like the blink of an eye, she found herself staring into a fading sky, her sandwich long consumed and a cool early evening chill permeating the air. It had been at least a couple hours, but between her disastrous love life, the confusingly affecting Templar and the pile of shit that the city had become, she'd been completely consumed in thought.

She stood to go, and the bench shifted slightly and her attention was caught by a light scraping, a sound completely out of place on this ledge she'd visited a hundred times. Casting her eyes about for its source, she discovered a dull streak of white wedged between the weathered wood of the bench and the wall behind her. It was millimeters away from dropping to the floor, where it probably would have just rolled into the sea. She pulled it out, noticing that it was a fresh, crisp scroll, which meant it could only have been put there that very day. She unfurled the top of the paper as she slowly made her way back toward the street, stopping just before she rounded the corner in order to read the even, simple script that crawled across the page.

Hawke,

I hope this letter finds you well, or better at least than when I saw you the other day. I am writing to offer you my deepest apologies for what happened. While that kiss came as a surprise to me too, and certainly wasn't unpleasant, it was definitely inappropriate and ill-advised. I take full responsibility and hope that I have not offended you too greatly.

I imagine, given past conversations we've had, that you might be wondering why a Templar such as myself would even care about whether or not he offended an apostate, though you are certainly not just any apostate, even regardless of your recently won title. But as the city is approaching the brink of a major rebellion, and the future beyond that is grim and uncertain, I feel compelled to make a confession. Whether it will come as a surprise to you now I do not know, but

She was startled away from the letter as the sound of heavy footsteps approached, moving incredibly fast and already much closer than they should have been. Her suddenly nervous fingers fumbled with the scroll, her heart jumping into her throat as she eyed her robe for a place to stash it, even as she realized that there was no crime in reading a letter that was addressed to her. The impulse to feel guilt had been automatic, possibly because of the promise of a confession, and she deliberately calmed herself. The steps were imminent and she intended to meet them, hopefully to stave off an unwanted visitor, but before she could take another step something slight and wispy caught her eye as it slid out of the unfurled scroll and landed softly beside her foot. She glanced down curiously, seeing a delicate yellow flower on a thin leafy stem lying inches away from the drop off into the water. A flower?

There was only a brief moment to register the brown eyes and metal Templar suit that belonged to the hurried footsteps before the body crashed hard into her, knocking the wind from her lungs and sending her careening wildly off balance. She grabbed desperately at the air for an anchor, but her hands slid over smooth pieces of metal, unable to find purchase. She finally felt the grasp of a warm hand on hers just seconds before she found herself cruelly immersed in the frigid shock of cold water.

She'd had no time to take a breath after the jolt of the impact, and her lungs began to burn with the need for air almost immediately. She kicked frantically toward the surface, vaguely registering the second crashing sound that had followed immediately after her own. She struggled to push herself toward the wavering light above her, but her thick mage robes were heavy and dragging her downward, resisting her reach for air. Something hard brushed against her leg as she was kicking and suddenly her face was above the water, her hands stretching upward toward the sharp, gritty ledge that she'd fallen from. She breathed hard, desperately filling her lungs with sweet gulps of air. She had only been under water for twenty seconds or so, but her heart was pounding in her ears and she felt slightly dizzy. She coughed, spitting the brown salty water from her throat, and then looked around, trying to get her bearings.

Before she could attempt to pull herself up over the ledge, she felt a jerk to her robes and her body began to slide back under the water. She gripped wildly at the ledge, trying not to lose her hold, which would certainly mean getting lost again withing the cold depths. It took a moment to realize that something had a hold of her. With a start she realized that Cullen, who had definitely been the person rushing around the corner, was no where to be seen.

She reached down with one hand and pulled on the part of her robe that was drawn taut, feeling a solid weight attached that only barely moved with her effort. Then she remembered: his armor. She had only been wearing a robe and attempting to swim in that had been difficult enough. All the extra weight of that metal would have made it impossible for him to do anything other than sink directly to the bottom of the sea.

Avery flailed her arm through the water and quickly made contact with a smooth, hard surface. She felt frantically over it, searching the smooth plates yet again for something to grasp onto, but this time finding a lip and a groove that she could get her fingers under. She pulled upward while bracing herself against the seawall and slowly the heavy mass began to move closer to the surface. She could feel him kicking and struggling and she heard herself grunting with the tremendous effort. The slight buoyancy afforded by the water allowed her to adjust her grip once he got closer, but she felt the cracking and stinging of breaking fingernails as she clutched with her fingertips at the metal piece and the rocky ledge.

Finally his face broke through the water, followed by an arm thrown up to catch the ledge, and she let herself breathe. He hung there for a time, coughing and sputtering, gasping for air. Finally he looked over to her, his eyes wide and reddened.

"Are you hurt?" he asked between coughs and heaves. She was taken aback. He was the one who had almost just truly drowned.

She shook her head, coughing again as a wave lapped up against her face, sending water up her nose.

"You go up first. I'll stay here in case you need a push," she panted, and he gave a little nod.

He pulled himself halfway up and then paused, letting the collected water spill out of the pockets beneath his armor. She kept a tenacious hold on the ledge with one hand, and did her best to support him with the other as he climbed. She was exhausted, and he felt solid and heavy, but she kept a grip on him just in case. If he were to fall back down without something to hold onto, it would mean certain death.

Once he was out, he lifted her onto the ledge as though she was weightless and they stood for a moment, dripping a river of seawater onto the ledge, and trying to recover from the shock of their immersion. She vaguely noted that he had a hand on her waist.

"I am so sorry," he said eventually, his eyes looking over her with a grave concern. Another hand rose and started a stroke to smooth back her hair, but he caught himself with a quick grimace and dropped his hand mid-motion.

"I didn't see you there until it was too late," he gasped.

"You were in quite the hurry." She almost gave a little laugh at the absurdity of the situation, now that the danger was past.

"I know, I came to… retrieve something. But I should have been more careful," he stopped to cough again, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"I feel like a drowned rat, but other than that… I should be okay," she said as she walked to the bench and dropped down onto it. He moved to join her, dragging his feet in heavy steps and then collapsing onto the bench, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.

"What about you? You were under there for a while," she asked.

"Fine. I'm fine. That was…. Just remind me never to try and swim in my armor again," he panted, his lips curling into a little smile, " I think I smacked my head, but I'm fine, truly. Thanks to your help."

When her breathing finally slowed, and the shock wore off a bit, she began to shiver. The sun was only two hours or so away from setting, and the chill in the breeze persisted.

"You should… I mean, we should try to wring your clothes out. I doubt you want to walk home sopping wet like that," he said.

Avery glanced down at her robes and realized he was right. Even after sitting there for a time, they still weighed surprisingly heavy on her, feeling as though they'd absorbed an extra person's weight worth of water. She gathered the front bit of the heavy skirt up, and attempted to position a length of it for twisting when Cullen broke in.

"Here let me," he said gently, and she lay her head back against the wall letting him take over. She heard the streams of water pouring from the fabric, but it soon became abundantly clear that wringing out the skirt was not warming her up or making her feel any drier, as there was still a significant amount of water inside and clinging to the bodice. "Hold on a second," she said, not seeing any other option.

She stood and began to unclip the sections of the robe, loosening enough of it that she could attempt to slide it off. She had it halfway over her head when the wet fabric began to wind tight and stick to her skin, resisting all of her efforts to remove it. She sighed.

"Help?" she asked simply, and she heard the clangs of metal as he stood, and then felt small jerks as he tried to help the dress the rest of the way off, apparently being very careful not to directly touch her skin.

Within minutes she was in only her small clothes, and Cullen stood with eyes averted, removing the plates of his armor to be placed in a pile by the furthest edge. Underneath the metal he wore a light linen tunic but it was practically transparent with wetness, clinging to the swells of muscle along his back.

Soon he was stripped down to only a pair of breeches, and she was watching him from behind as he continued to empty their clothes of water. She quickly gave up trying to keep her eyes off the impressive cut of muscle in his arms and back as they flexed and shifted with the effort. She felt a small, nervous flutter somewhere in her stomach, somewhere that recently had been reserved only for pain. That pain which now was only a dull memory, having been shocked into submission by the unexpected brush with death.

He was quiet as he worked, completely focused on his task. Avery found the undulating tensing of his muscles to be almost hypnotic. He looked like one of those statues carved from marble that she'd seen in museums. Certainly a far cry from the thin, lean bodies of Fenris and Anders.

"What were you coming to retrieve?" she asked finally, her voice croaking more than she expected. He stopped, paused in mid-wring for a moment before his answer came.

"Um, well I assume you found the letter?" His voice too was raspy, and he cleared his throat with another cough.

"I did. You were… you were going to take it back?" she asked.

"I was. I had another to replace it with." He turned to look fully at her, but then quickly cast his eyes down again. Probably since she was sitting there in only her smalls. She didn't really mind, having grown quite comfortable lounging about in the nude during the months that it was her, Anders and Fenris together. And she wasn't even nude just then.

"Did you read it?" His question was cautious, and she couldn't help but notice how deeply pink his cheeks were.

"Only a little bit of it. I had only gotten through the first couple sentences," she glanced around at the floor of the ledge and didn't see the scroll anywhere. She hadn't gotten to the part of stuffing it into her pocket yet. And then she remembered the flower. But that too was nowhere to be seen. She felt a pang of regret in the realization that both of them must be resting at the bottom of the sea. He visibly relaxed, seeming to breathe a sigh of relief.

"It must be gone now I guess," she said. "Will you tell me what the rest said?"

"I… No. I'm sorry. That's why I was coming back for it. I…. I made a bit of a mess of it. It was only supposed to be an apology but it got away from me and became a little… long winded. I'm really sorry," he stammered as he rubbed the back of his neck. "The second one was much more concise, but I'm afraid it seems to be lost now too."

"And the flower?" she asked. Pink flushed his cheeks yet again.

"Right, yes I forgot about that. It was just… I just, I had it. I thought it was nice, so I just set it in there. It wasn't supposed to be anything… just not a big deal really. I hope it didn't make you think that I…" he stopped and hung his head for a moment. "Maker's breath this is a disaster."

She was quiet for a moment, while he went back to wringing out the clothing.

"At any rate, I trust you read the part about my apologizing."

"I did."

She was surprised to be feeling slightly disappointed. She reminded herself that she was swearing off men anyway, so it didn't really matter. Even if that wasn't the case, why did she care what the Knight-Captain of the Templar Order did or said? Of all people he was the last man in the world who… not that she had ever even considered that. Especially not since the kiss. Definitely especially not since the kiss.

She sat back against the cold wall again, wrapping her arms around herself to try and stave off a little bit of the chill.

Finally he stood, arching his broad back in a long stretch. Avery dragged her eyes away, issuing a quiet curse to herself.

"This is as good as I can get them. They might dry a bit more if we let them air out for a little while. I can drape them over the bench," he said as he turned. She slid off the bench to give him room, settling herself on the ground. She looked up to see his face drawn in an expression of concern, and noticed a small stream of red smeared in front of his ear. They both spoke at the same time.

"You're cold."

"You're bleeding."

Avery stood and he recoiled slightly as she closed the distance between them in three quick strides.

"Sorry… " she said, stopping in front of him. "There's blood. You said you hit your head?" She stood on her tip toes to try to get a better look at it. The smear of red led to a mark on his scalp just above his ear.

"I… oh. It's fine. I don't even feel anything," he said as he patted at his head and inspected the red blots left on his hand.

"Still, I can take care of it," she said. She reached up and picked gently at his hair, slicking tendrils away from the area of the wound. "I'm not a healer of Anders' calibre or anything, but I can handle small things like this."

His eyes closed as her fingers went to work, brushing lightly against his scalp and calling up a buzzing corona of healing energy. She sensed that it was only the one cut, with a bit of bruising under the skin, but there was nothing serious there. He must have only grazed it on his way down. She let the magic weave his wound closed and thought she saw him give a little shiver as goosebumps rose on his arms.

"Anders… he is the other apostate," Cullen said, not quite a question. "I heard that he lives with you now."

Avery swallowed. His eyes were still closed, his long lashes resting against the dark circles that remained under his eyes. She wondered if she could heal those too… but that would probably be overstepping. She stepped back slightly, but a took the moment that he wasn't watching to continue to study his face. There was something about it, that despite its weariness and flaws, was very pleasant. There were a few scars here and there, those dark bags under and around the eyes, and that ever present stubble on his chin and angled jaw. But there was something else too… nice bone structure perhaps. And his lips…. She shook the thoughts out of her head and took another step back, needing to put a larger cushion between them.

"For now. Not for much longer," she answered finally, trying not to let the sharpness of her feelings on the matter come through in her voice.

"Oh?" he asked, his eyes fluttering open, shining a startlingly vivid amber against the purpled lids. Maker's breath the man looked tired.

"And that is not an invitation for you to apprehend him," she added as she walked back to the place she'd been sitting. "He is still one of my people, regardless of where he might be living."

"That's not what I…." He sighed. "I mean, he is incredibly lucky to have such powerful friends. I hope he appreciates it. Meredith has been dying to get a hold of him for years now."

"Well she won't. Not unless she wants a war on her hands."

"That does appear to be where we are heading anyway."

"Probably. But nothing is certain. Well, nothing except that none of you will lay a finger on Anders if I have anything to say about it."

"Yes, yes, you've made your point," he sighed again and turned away to pick up the still sopping fabric. He began draping it all over the bench, spreading it all out and letting as much of it as possible hang over the edges. "Anyway, there's no hope of these getting fully dry out here, but if they hang for a little while then I should be able to wring more of the water out of the bottoms. Then we can both be on our way."

Avery dropped back down onto the floor of the ledge, cringing away from the cold of the wall behind her.

"Are you… I'm sorry I wish I had something to give you to keep you warm. I could… I could run out and see if anyone nearby has a change of clothing they might let you borrow?" he said as he lowered himself beside her.

"No, don't do that. I'll be fine," she insisted, keeping her eyes planted firmly on her feet since she couldn't seem to stop staring at him. Maker's balls she was ridiculous.

He went to lean back and winced as he hit the cold wall.

"Um… here… lean against me," he said as he scooted his body sideways to put his back toward her. "I know it's probably the last thing you want, but we can share body heat. My sister fell into an icy pond once when I was a child, and after we pulled her out the healer had her and my mother shed their clothes and cuddle under a blanket. He said skin to skin was the best way to warm someone when they were dangerously cold. Anyway, it's all we have."

Avery was speechless for a moment, looking at the broad expanse of his back with its slight rippling of impressive muscle. That flutter came back into her stomach, telling her that it was probably a very bad idea to press herself up against him the way he was offering.

"Cullen, you don't have to do all this," was all she could think of to say.

"Yes I do. It's my fault you ended up in the water. It's my fault you're sitting there wet and freezing right now. Let me do what little I can to make it right."

Avery sighed. This day just kept getting stranger and stranger. She noticed that now that Cullen was making a demand, he wasn't stammering like he had been earlier. At least with his back turned like that there was no chance of him kissing her again. Though he probably didn't want to do that again anyway.

She considered just sitting there and being cold, for however long it took. Surely they weren't going to be there that long. They weren't waiting for the clothes to dry, only for some of the water to collect into the hanging parts. She could wait that long, right? Being up against another man… a shirtless man… and before she had technically broke it all off with the other two… not that that was really an issue… but also this was Knight-Captain Cullen! How was it that that little fact kept escaping her brain? No, she would be fine.

It wasn't long before her teeth started to chatter from the force of her shivering and she heard Cullen's voice again, this time tinged with annoyance. "Hawke stop being so stubborn. You're freezing."

She rolled her eyes and pulled herself closer to him, folding her arms into her chest and then laying forward against the skin of his back. It was cool at first, but she felt the warmth begin to pool between them almost immediately.

"Avery," she said as she felt the shivering begin to lessen.

"What?"

"Well if we're going to be cuddling shirtless you might as well use my first name," she said.

"This is hardly cuddling," he answered and then cleared his throat. "Why were you just standing behind the corner like that anyway? Anyone would have run into you. Not that I'm saying it's your fault — I shouldn't have been rushing around so recklessly, but… I mean… "

She thought back to the moment.

"Well I heard someone — you, it turned out — coming and I was going to try to intercept them to keep them out of here, but I had just found your letter, and then the flower fell out and… I don't know, I paused I guess." she said. His body shook slightly as he gave an understanding nod.

For the first minute or two she was careful about what parts of her were touching him, but as the warmth grew between them she felt herself relaxing more and more, her muscles uncoiling and settling firmly against his skin. She let her cheek rest at the base of his neck, right between his shoulder blades. The rushing of the air entering and leaving his lungs was loud in her ears, as was the strong, slow beating of his heart. It felt irritatingly nice, and her attempts not to enjoy it were clearly failing miserably. But it had worked to completely stop her shivering. She shifted her hips a little, turning enough that she could press a little more of herself into the smooth, firm wall of warmth.

"Why won't you tell me what the rest of the letter said?" she asked. She couldn't help but notice that his heart sped up slightly at the question.

"It's… it's not important. It's nothing you want to hear, trust me," he said, his voice reverberating through to her cheek.

"But what if I do? I wouldn't be asking if I didn't. You and I haven't spoken a whole lot in the time we've known each other, and almost never about anything personal. I just wonder what you might have had to say that would have gotten away from you and turned long winded, as you said."

She was curious. And that's all she was, right? Yes. Of course. Just pure curiosity. It was so rare for her to get confessional letters. 'Thank you' letters, 'I need your help' letters, 'you asshole you ruined my life' letters… those she got plenty of on a regular basis. But 'I feel compelled to make a confession' letters? Never.

"It's a little embarrassing. I'd really appreciate if we could just forget about it," he sighed eventually.

She felt another pang of disappointment.

"Do I have to forget about the flower too?" she asked.

"Maker yes. Please," he cried.

"Okay then. Well, for what it's worth it was a pretty flower. I thought it was sweet. You don't see many flowers in this shithole of a city, unless you're raiding some balcony in Hightown. Is that why I have to forget about it? Did you raid the flowerpots on someone's bacony?" she teased. "Are you afraid I'll turn you in?"

His back shook in what could have been a little laugh. "No, nothing like that."

"Are you sure? I won't tell." Why was she joking around with this man? Just because he kept being so damned kind and considerate. And polite. And shirtless. Get it together Avery.

"It was growing in a crack in the street in Lowtown. I've never seen anything like that here before, at least that I can remember. It's possible that I just never pay attention. But of all the places in the Marches for a flower to grow, it chose to try to make its way in a greasy crack in, as you so eloquently put it, this shithole. I figured picking it and maybe putting it in some water was better than letting it get trampled on."

"Or pissed on," she added.

"Or drenched in some lowlife's blood. But it was just getting crushed in my pocket, so… Anyway. That's the story of the flower."

She sighed again. The sun was in that same golden spot in the sky that it was the last time they were there. The time of the kiss. She pushed the thought out of her mind again. And for a moment she realized that despite the fact that little had changed in her life since the last time they were there, she felt significantly different. Whether it was the lingering scare from the water, the sweet gesture of the flower or… she didn't know. But her mind felt clearer, her chest didn't feel as heavy. It was certainly just temporary, but a relief nonetheless.

"Do you mind if I lean back against you too? My back is starting to get a little sore from leaning forward like this, with all your weight… not that you are…"

"Of course. Please, don't let me make you uncomfortable."

She felt him shift slightly, and then his back straightened and she sat up to let him settle into a more agreeable position. He relaxed against her and she found when she came back in, her cheek was resting much higher than it was before, almost right at the crest of his shoulder. From where her cheek lay she could easily see the thick length of his neck and the dark, shaggy curls of his wet hair. The gentle bob of his adam's apple when he swallowed. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and saw her staring.

"Why do you have such heavy shadows under your eyes all the time? Do you not sleep?" she asked finally. If they were going to be shirtless, cuddling and on a first name basis, she might as well ask all the questions she wanted to.

"Not well. I know it looks bad, but I'm not sure what to do about it. I work long hours, I'm on an extra high dose of lyrium because of all the mage activity lately, and no, I don't really sleep," he answered.

"Why not?"

"Nightmares for starters," he whispered. She'd have had trouble hearing it if her ear wasn't right up against him. "And, well… you know how messed up everything is here. It's only gotten worse, and Meredith is…."

"What?"

"I probably shouldn't say. I keep forgetting that you are who you are. You're the most powerful apostate in the city right now, and there's all manner of things you could use against me already," she felt his heartrate increase again, and she sat up, surprised.

"Cullen that… that hadn't even occurred to me. To use anything against you. I know that some of the things I've done in the past have probably seemed cruel but… " she sighed. "I'm not a mean person just for kicks."

Yes, she realized. She officially cared what this Templar thought about her. Damnit. "No, it's okay," she said, "You don't have to say. Meredith incriminates herself well enough on her own." She relaxed back down into him.

"Your nightmares. Are they are about all of us evil mages and how horrible and repulsive we are?" she asked. Immediately she regretted the snarky tone.

"Well I wouldn't put it like that exactly," he said. She detected a note of irritation that she knew she fully deserved.

"But they are about mages? Blood mages, abominations, things like that?"

"Well yes. Things I have seen. Things that have been done to me. I have had some bad experiences and that's… really all I'd like to say about it," he said, his voice sounding sharp.

"Okay. I'm sorry to pry so much," she offered sincerely, beginning to feel decidedly like a jerk. She realized that she needed to just shut her mouth.

"Why are you interested anyway? Don't you hate my kind as much as you think we hate you?" he paused a moment, his voice rising. "Not all of us do you know. Yes, I firmly believe that mages are dangerous and need to be watched. All of them. Including you. But some of us joined the Order to protect you from yourselves and each other as much as anyone else. We're not all monsters, but some of you actually are!"

Avery sat up, pulling herself away from his body. She felt anger rising in her throat but kept her mouth clamped shut. Her magic began buzzing around her in response, but she took a deep breath and pressed it back down. Before she could think of anything else to say, Cullen spun around quickly, his brows furrowed but his eyes soft.

"I'm sorry. I mean, I meant what I said but I don't mean to say that you're a monster. I know that you're not. You're one of the strong ones. And I…" he stopped. Avery already felt herself calming.

"What?"

"I… admire you. What you've made of yourself here. I… I put that in the letter, if you want to know. So, please, if we could just drop this. I deal with enough of this already, all day every day. I just… I come to this spot because I need a break. There's just so much, all the time, and it never stops. I just need a break," he rubbed at his brow with shaking fingers.

Avery felt all the anger in her drain away. Before she knew what she was doing she had a hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently. She hadn't been much comfort to him last time, but there was no armor in the way now.

Would it be out of the question to fully embrace him? Yes, she decided. With as few clothes as they had on between them that could turn into a much messier situation very fast. Simplicity, she reminded herself. Besides, he was in no condition to even be thinking about that. She shouldn't have been either.

She kneaded at the muscle of his shoulder and then slid her hand around to his back and rubbed light circles, hoping that it helped. She wasn't sure what else to do, or what to say that wasn't just the hundredth apology of the night. He looked up and something flashed in his eyes that she couldn't quite read. His gaze flicked down to her lips for just an instant, and then he was standing. Moving himself out from under her touch.

"I'm going to go check on the clothes," he said.


	3. Chapter 3

Three weeks. Three weeks and Cullen still hadn't made an appearance back at the ledge, at least not that she had seen. Every time she'd been back since, she immediately scanned the bench for another letter, but there was never anything there. Sometimes she even peered down into the surrounding waters wondering if something left for her might have dropped in. All she ever found was her own sad little reflection, looking back up at her. She had her own shadows under her eyes now. Lack of sleep, a head full of regrets and a gut full of wanting would do that to a person apparently. She'd spent the days afterward kicking herself and wincing at the memory of some of the things she'd said, and really wasn't terribly surprised that he hadn't been back.

The conversation with Fenris and Anders went smoother than even she expected. They acted surprised, confused and then mildly hurt, and she managed to contain her own anger and not get too petty. They hadn't been around much anyway but yet somehow her house still felt quieter than ever. Even Bodahn seemed to keep to himself more, still offering polite greetings and tidbits of news, but keeping himself out of sight for good chunks of the day. Despite her weeks of wishing to have the house to herself, the quiet had only pushed her to spend more and more time outside of it. She'd also considered painting the walls, rearranging the art and the furniture, changing things up to try to make it more bearable. Not only were there memories of Fenris and Anders, but there were also memories of Mother. It hurt just to be there sometimes, hearing silence where once there was laughter. Still it was a relief of its own to not have to creep cautiously around, afraid she might stumble onto something hurtful. She knew the men never intended to be hurtful. Things just worked out differently than they had all planned. If only she hadn't still loved them. If only she hadn't spent most of her nights in bed alone wishing that both or even just one of them wanted to be there. Wanted her.

It didn't matter. It was better off this way anyway. Anders and Fenris would get over whatever mild irritation they harbored for her eventually. They always did. She figured the only thing they were really upset about was the fact that now they'd have to use Fenris' house more often. Fenris didn't particularly seem to want anyone else living there, and meticulously neat Anders didn't particularly enjoy the fact that the place was in disrepair and crumbling. That the seneschal kept snooping around was another problem, putting Anders even more on edge than he already was.

Three weeks. It had passed impossibly slowly, and all she'd wanted to do was apologize to Cullen, and see how he was doing. He'd seemed so close to breaking down the last time, because of her stupid nosiness, and she just wanted to make sure she hadn't made things worse for him than they already were. Three weeks in and she'd had enough. She'd jumped out of bed and decided that that was the day she would go to the Gallows. At least just say hello, offer her apology. Let him know it was safe to come back to the ledge, as she'd let him have it if he wanted it. She had her house now, for whatever good that was doing her.

The waves were high that day and the boat ride was especially unpleasant. It was usually a rough journey due to the swift currents that raced between the rocky walls of the channel, but she climbed off the boat feeling extra green and nauseated. She wasn't sure how much of that was from the boat's listing and rocking, and how much was from the fact that two passengers near her had vomited, filling the air with the sour scent of bile, but the result was the same.

She never relished the trips out to the Gallows anyway, despite the beauty of the crashing water. Even the Gallows island itself was an impressive sight upon approach, as long as she could ignore its increasingly unpleasant purpose.

She'd decided to go alone, not wanting to bother Aveline, who'd begun training a new legion of guards to help contain some of the unrest. Merrill and Anders had both been extra wary of the Gallows since things in the city had been escalating so dramatically. Fenris probably would have come, so would Varric, but since there were no actual jobs to be done she didn't see the point. She'd already been searching her brain to come up with a good excuse for her visit, so that she wouldn't have to admit to subjecting herself to an hour round trip boat ride simply for a few minutes conversation with Cullen.

He was busy, a small group of Templars surrounding him as he spoke to them with a grim expression, most likely giving orders of some kind. But his eyes had landed on her almost immediately anyway, despite the fact that Avery had dressed in simple commoner clothes, leaving the robes that identified her as a mage at home. Everyone there knew who she was already so the gesture was really pretty pointless, but at least she hadn't gotten the looks of derision from the people on the boat who'd be horrified to be in the presence of an apostate.

She gave him a small nod from across the square and wandered over to the weaponer's market tables, looking absentmindedly at the merchandise and pretending to inspect everything much more than she actually was. She didn't need any of the stuff there, but it was pretty. The daggers especially always caught her eye, their hilts often inlaid with exotic jewels and the blades taking on many more shapes and configurations than your standard sword did. Isabela, the traitorous bitch, had a few really unique daggers and had shown Avery a few moves a couple times. She wondered if it would be considered strange for a mage to take up daggers. Who was to say that she couldn't cross-train in different schools of fighting? It would only enhance her lethality, and give her many more options in a tight spot. Wouldn't it?

While not interested in buying anything, she had brought along a small pouch of useless jewelry pieces to sell, and after a quick bit of conversation she handed the pouch off to the merchant and waited patiently as he drew up an estimate for payment.

She felt the light brush of something against her waist and turned to see Cullen looking over her shoulder. She felt a small thrill at the touch, and was relieved to see that his expression was soft, and not irritated or unwelcoming. She sternly reminded herself she wasn't there to flirt, or to let her mind wander to forbidden places, but simply to offer an apology.

"Hawke. Nice to see you," he said politely.

"Please, it's Avery."

"Well, I.. I wouldn't want people to get the wrong impression. I mean here, at least. In public." He glanced warily around him, though the others inspecting the wares at the tables seemed too distracted to notice them.

"Oh. Right. Of course." She tried not to feel a little dispirited. He gestured to a shaded spot away from the tables and Avery followed him to it, noticing that he still looked as weary and overburdened as ever. "I was actually… I was going to come try to speak to you tonight but I've just been informed that I have to accompany Meredith on a… a thing. It's not important. Anyway, so I won't be able to, uh, come speak to you." He lifted an arm to rub at the back of his neck, his eyes looking everywhere but directly at her.

"Well I'm here now," she said.

"Yes, but this won't do. I can't chance being overheard. Perhaps you could meet me tomorrow? Around sundown, if that's not too late to be in the docks. I don't think I could make it over any sooner."

She was taken aback for a moment and tried to press down a little smile. She had no idea what he could want, and she instantly found herself desperate to find out.

"I… of course," she answered. "Sure, yes. Sundown."

"I also wanted to apologize again… for everything," he continued.

"You've apologized enough Cull...er, I mean Knight-Captain. I'm the one apologizing today, that's why I'm here."

"That's why you came all the way to the Gallows? Is that, uh, is that why none of your friends are trailing behind you this time?" He gave a confused half smile and Avery noted that it was the closest to a smile she'd seen from him yet. She nodded sheepishly. Maker, she'd only been there a few minutes and had already given herself away completely.

"But what could you possibly have to apologize for?"

"For everything. For being nosy and rude and upsetting you… I didn't mean to. The last thing that I wanted was to stress you out more than you already are."

"Well thank you, but none of that really compares to practically drowning you and then making you sit in the cold for an hour," he said.

She laughed softly, trying to keep her voice quiet. "May I remind you, Knight-Captain, that you are the one who almost drowned, not me. And I wasn't cold for very long." She tried to push out the image of his shirtless chest, of the smell and feel of his bare skin against her. Maker's breath. "That tactic that your sister's healer recommended was… very effective." She inhaled deeply, denying herself yet another replay of the scenes she'd already run through her mind repeatedly over the past few weeks. Those certainly weren't helping her conviction to try to keep her head straight for a while. No, she needed to focus, say what she came to say, and then get out of there.

"At any rate," she continued quickly, before he had a chance to say anything else, "I am sorry. For being nosy, and rude and asking about your nightmares and the letter and everything. And I wanted to let you know that you can have the ledge to yourself now, if you want it. My house is… empty again. Mostly. So, you won't be bothered by my presence there anymore. If that's what you want anyway. It's fine if you do. Please don't do the whole super polite thing and insist that I keep it if my presence is in any way a… a burden, or if it will keep you away. I want you to have it. I think you might need it more, and I really hope that you do, um, get a break. From everything."

When it was all out she waited a moment. He just looked at her with a small frown.

"Anyway, Maker's balls, I'm sorry to ramble on. See you tomorrow. At sundown, I'll be there." she said as she turned to leave, and then called quietly over her shoulder, "I hope you're able to get some sleep."

"Wait," he said quietly to her back. She heard it clearly even though it was practically a whisper. When she turned back to look at him his expression was pained, his brows drawn, which only made the shadows around his eyes look darker than ever. "Um… nevermind. It can wait. Sorry. Yes, tomorrow then."

She was on the boat back to the Docks, slumped against the bow with her head hanging in her hands when she realized she forgot to go back to the merchant and get the money for her jewelry. Oh well, she thought. Thank the Maker she'd gone alone. If Varric or anyone else had been there to witness her floundering about for a Templar she'd never hear the end of it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She watched the last glow of sunlight slip below the horizon and hugged herself against the crisp breeze. It was officially autumn and night was falling earlier and earlier while the temperatures had begun to plummet noticeably with each passing day, and being so close to the water only added an extra dimension of cold to the air. She wondered how it was that she could shoot ice from her hands, and turn a pond rock solid, but yet a caress of a cool little breeze and she immediately began to shiver. It was a cruel paradox, and she was Fereldan for crying out loud. How had she ever gotten through their crazy winters as a child?

While her mage robes were thick, she still wished she'd brought another layer. But once the sun was gone she decided she wouldn't stay much longer. He said sundown, and the sun was officially down. She was sure he had a good reason, but she wasn't going to wait out there forever. Most likely he had just received another last minute directive from Meredith.

Still, since it was dark, she'd need to take the secret entrance back to her home, which meant walking to Anders' clinic. The walk was a quick one from the Docks, and required that she pass a few alleys that regularly harbored a number of shady characters, but usually she could make it without a problem. On this night, she had to put extra effort into ignoring the catcalls and challenging looks that were cast her way since she was so easily identified as a mage by her clothing. But one man who had the bad idea to begin walking toward her with a particularly threatening grimace found himself pinned in place by a spear of ice she'd thrown on impulse. It was enough to stop him in his tracks, and though he could have broken free if he really wanted, he apparently thought the better of it.

When she finally reached the entrance to the underground passage, she was shocked to see that one of the doors to Anders' clinic was open, the interior dimly lit by a scattering of candles. His shadow paced around inside, talking to himself while he lingered over open books and then wrote furiously onto some parchment. She assumed it must have been that manifesto. She was still finding errant pages of it stuffed randomly around the house.

He sensed her presence, looking up and waving her over. As she approached he hastily closed all the books, replaced his quill and then just stood there, his limbs twitching anxiously.

"Hawke, you're out awfully late," he said. The usual sparkle in his eye, the lilt of humor in his voice, things she had come to love so about him, had been gone completely for weeks now. She'd wondered if he'd been like that for everyone, or if was something to do with her specifically. Then she recalled the quick conversation she'd had with Fenris.

"Anders. It's not actually that late, is it?" She glanced around, noticing how lived in his clinic looked again. "You're… you're not staying with Fenris?"

"Believe it or not I prefer this hovel to his place. He wasn't too keen on the idea of cohabitation anyway," he said. "I guess unless that meant your house."

"Well, he didn't stay every night even at my place."

"Yes, that's true I suppose." His eyes were distant, his face drawn and severe.

"How are you? We haven't really talked in a long time," she asked. Anders had always been deeply troubled, though for a while when it was just the two of them he seemed genuinely happy despite his struggles. The memory of his radiant smile, his eyes bright with wit and laughter still made her ache, feeling like a punch to the gut when she recalled how quickly that had seemed to disappear, turned toward someone else.

"There are more Templars around lately. Meredith has either recruited more or had them transferred in from somewhere else. More guards too. It's like everyone's gearing up for something. And I'm nervous about all these new bodies precisely because _they're_ so nervous. None of the dolts seem to connect the fact that there are so many blood mages precisely because of all the crack downs! How bloody blind are they!? What do they expect when they are pushing us to desperate measures!? Mages resort to blood magic out of desperation, which makes the Templars crack down even harder, which makes the mages more desperate. Every damn mage in the Circle is going to be a blood mage before the end of this and it'll be the Templar's fault." He said. His eyes were wild and he continued to pace as he talked, "But the rest of us will be the ones who suffer for it, more than we already have. It's not going to stop you know, not until something breaks or everybody kills everybody. And that _damned_ Elthina... If she'd just pick a bloody side!" Avery was surprised Justice wasn't coming through with the amount he was stressing. She only nodded. He was right of course, for the most part anyway. Though she had recently been thinking that it seemed like each side was antagonizing the other equally.

"And I'm not particularly happy to be back here either," he said, looking around. "Though there were signs that the Templars were here while I was gone. So maybe that means they've ruled this place out and moved on to looking for me elsewhere. But still, it was nice to live in a proper house again. I felt much safer there. Near you."

"I know. I'm sorry," she offered. "But I've warned the Knight-Captain that you're one of my people and to leave you be. Hopefully they'll listen."

"And if they don't? Since when do the Templars care? You're in just as much danger as I am you know. Don't think for a second that Meredith won't take you too if she has an opportunity."

He crossed the room and stopped only inches away, causing Avery to flinch.

"She's already had the opportunity. I've met with her a few times now."

It was so much easier to feel normal when he wasn't standing right in front of her. She glanced up and briefly connected with his warm brown eyes. Up until their twosome had become a threesome, having him so close would have resulted in a passionate kiss. The kind that sent shivers down her spine and turned her knees to jelly. Anders had true magic in his touch. Whether it was his healing hands setting her bones and putting her body back together, the fireballs that obliterated their opponents or the light caress down the back of her neck while he kissed her, he had been able to make her melt with his touch since their first moment of fumbled contact.

"Have you really? Well that's… something."

He sighed. "I hope you're right. I hope they do listen to you. It probably is better for you that I'm here. Then they have less excuse… I don't want to be the reason that you're dragged off the Gallows."

She nodded. She hadn't minded the danger at all when he was living with her. She would have done anything to protect him, no matter the cost. Even now, she felt a loyalty that she couldn't shake, despite all the pain. They'd been friends for six years, and up until recently he'd been there for her through thick and thin. She still wanted to be friends, but standing there so close to him, even without that laughing glint in his eye that had come to mean _Anders_ to her, she wasn't sure if she was capable. Surely it couldn't always feel like this? At some point she should be able to actually breathe around him again, right?

"I haven't been a very good friend lately, Hawke. I'm sorry about that." He spoke as if he was reading her mind. "I'm sorry about a lot of things, things I've done or not done, and things I've yet to do. I know we can't go on like nothing happened between us, but I won't make it in this city without your support. I need you. I hope you'll tolerate having me around and helping me out for a little while longer."

She had to stifle a scornful laugh. His words weren't hurtful on their own, yet something about them still stung. Of course he still needed her. She was the only reason he wasn't in the Circle himself. And to ask her to tolerate him, like it was no big deal that his presence made her insides twist and try to turn into outsides? Endure him perhaps would have been better. Suffer to be around him. Tolerate barely did justice to what it would take for her to continue to try to be his friend when he seemed to have given up trying to be hers.

He lifted her chin with a finger, forcing her to meet his eyes and for a moment she felt a flash of anger. She welcomed it.

"You broke my heart Anders," she said. "I loved you."

"I know," he said sadly. "I loved you too. I still do."

"You say you need me, but I have needed you too and you weren't there. You really have been kind of a shitty friend lately, on top of…."

He withdrew his hand, but continued to just stand there quietly. She let her eyes fall from his face, refusing to see those lips of his that she had cherished so much. That long, elegant nose and strong narrow jaw. There was a time that it hurt her to look at him because of how beautiful she found him. It still hurt now, but for different reasons altogether. "But I guess you did warn me, didn't you?"

Without saying anything else, she turned and walked back out of the clinic, shutting herself into the hidden passage just beyond his door.

There were tears in her eyes when she finally reached the entry to the basement of her own house, and she realized she'd been muttering out loud during the whole walk home. She'd thought of numerous other retorts, things she wished she'd been heartless enough to actually say. She'd had a few full imaginary conversations in which she unleashed all her thoughts and feelings, pretending as though Anders actually cared to hear them. The truth was that in normal circumstances, he probably would have cared. He hadn't always been a shitty friend. For a long time he had been impossibly generous and loving and he'd regularly gone out of his way to do things for her and make her laugh. She'd never thought that he truly stopped caring about her altogether, other things just got in the way. She'd always known how deeply affected he was by the Templar activity in the city. He had a long history with the Circle, and was the most vocal and passionate advocate for mage rights that she had ever known. But lately Kirkwall was just the absolute worst place in all of Thedas for him to be. It had been making him more and more unhinged, and everyone had noticed. The truth was, she probably could have tried to be a better friend herself. Maybe she could have staved off some of his turmoil, been more of a calming influence.

But despite the twinge of guilt that caused, it didn't stop the other feelings raging through her. She missed him. She missed the him that was so warm and open with her. She didn't know if even Fenris got that side of him lately.

She wiped the tears out of her eyes and climbed the stairs into the main section of the house.

The livingroom was dim, with Bodahn and Sandal already having retired for the night, and all that was left of the fire were glowing embers. She stood in the middle of the room wondering just how late it actually was. Had she stayed out at the docks much longer than she thought, waiting for her secret Templar friend? Could she even really call him her friend? Just because they both found themselves hurting in the same place and the same time… that didn't mean that they'd suddenly developed some sort of loyalty to each other. She'd begun to wish desperately that she could have read the entirety of that letter. Or at least kept the flower, despite the fact that it wasn't really the romantic gesture that she'd originally thought.

She kneeled down to the fire, poking at the embers and throwing on another log. The same old back and forth that she'd been struggling with for weeks now was running through her mind again, about how he was a _Templar_ , and surely despite his politeness, he feared her, thought her capable of horrible things. She shouldn't care what he said or thought, or where he was.

Plus, it was also abundantly clear that she wasn't over her old loves. She wasn't sure if she'd really even begun to deal with that. Another tear slid down her cheek and she cursed Anders and Fenris. Cursed herself for wanting an empty house and kicking them out, only to find herself hating all the silence. For thinking too much about a man, yet another blighted man, whose position and title would have destroyed any attempt at actual simplicity that she'd achieved. Not that there'd really been much. She cursed the mages and the Templars equally, both of them responsible for atrocities, and then included every blighted soul in Kirkwall for setting the stage for what was a devastating disaster-in-progress.

The flames began to slowly climb as they licked over the new log and she rubbed any lingering cold out of her arms. She wandered up to her room and changed out of her mages robe and into something a bit more comfortable. She eyed the pile of books she'd been reading and decided that none of them were calling to her. She'd made it back down to the living room and was inspecting the bottles of liquor that sat on a table when she heard a series of knocks. She almost didn't believe it could have been the door, assuming it must have been the wood in the fire, crackling extra hard. It wasn't until the second time it came that she realized someone actually was knocking.

Her heart was a flurry of scattered beats as she approached the door, and she braced herself, assuming it was probably Fenris. For a while, before everything had gone to shit, he'd had a habit of showing up late at night. Usually he just let himself in, but he must have decided to be respectful, now that she'd officially rescinded her open door policy.

"Cullen?" she asked the haunted looking man who stood in the moonlight.

"Hawke, I'm sorry to bother you. I know it's late. It's been a… troubling day and I just wanted to…" he paused and his expression grew more concerned. "You've been crying? Maker, is that because… ? I'm sorry I didn't make it to the docks, I…" he took a step forward, stopping to search her face with hollow, weary eyes.

"No," she said, swiping at her face to clear out any leftover tears. She hadn't realized that would be so noticeable. "No, it's not because of you."

"I… oh. Well, good, I guess. Anyway. Everything that could have gone wrong today did, and even the boat on the way over… It's anchored for the night now, in need of repairs so they won't be running it again til tomorrow. So I thought I'd come offer an explanation before I try to get a room at the Hanged Man for the night. I, um." he said and he dropped his head heavily, letting it hang. "Maker, why is it so hard to just talk to you?"

A confusing mixture of sorrow and gladness settled over her, and she reached for his hand, picking it up lightly. She was glad it was hard for him to talk to her? Or was she glad about what that might mean? Maybe all the staring, all the struggling with whatever it was between them… maybe it wasn't all just on her side? But it could mean something else entirely. She really had no way to know for sure.

His hand was cold, and rough with callouses, but his fingers slid gently around hers, gripping lightly as she pulled, urging him inside.

"Come warm up, Cullen. We can talk by the fire."

"I… yes. Okay. It has been awfully cold lately, hadn't it?"

As she walked back toward the fire she realized she really needed to get more places to sit. There was no sofa, only a small wooden chair beside the table at the back of the room that held her letters.

"Sorry that there's really no chairs or anything. I guess I never really spent enough time here to realize that I needed them, at least not until recently."

She moved to drop his hand, knowing somewhere in her mind that she didn't really want to. The way his hand curled so softly around hers had been comforting. She was tired of pushing those thoughts out of her mind, of having to constantly deny and resist all her wants, her impulses. She knew she should, that she had been telling herself for weeks now that that was exactly what she needed to do, and she believed it. Especially since she was sure that he really didn't want to get involved with a mage, an apostate at that. Especially one that was still pining over her exes. That was all just too troublesome for both of them.

"I guess we'll just have to sit on the floor," she said as she gestured to the rug. He stopped in the middle of the room but made no move to sit. Finally she released his hand and she walked back over to her small collection of liquor, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

He took the glass she filled for him and then joined her as she sat, luxuriating in the radiant warmth of the fire.

"I have an extra room," she said, the moment she realized it. Mother's room. She still hadn't opened it since…

"No, thank you, I couldn't."

"I insist. You can't walk to the Hanged Man by yourself this late. If any of the rebel mages found a Templar out there alone, we'd never see you again," she said. "Which means I'd be forced to accompany you on the walk, and then I'd have to stay there too and I'd really rather not."

"I… I guess you make a good point. I hadn't thought of that. I suppose it probably would have been better for me not to come. I didn't mean to intrude," he said as he stared into the fire.

She took a deep drink of her whiskey and studied him. He looked like a ghost. Thoughts of Anders and her Mother slipped away and all she could think about was what might help him to feel a little better. It was actually nice, she realized. To have someone take the focus off her own problems, her own losses, remind her that she wasn't the only one in Kirkwall in turmoil, not that she'd ever actually thought that was the case.

"Do you want to talk about… why you wanted me to meet you tonight? Or… why you weren't able to make it?"

"Yes… I guess I should get to that, shouldn't I? That is why I'm here." He emptied his glass and then gestured for a refill. The glass shook as he held it out to her and she decided to just take it and fill it herself rather than risk splashing them both.

"I was going to ask for your help with a group of mages… they included a child… a boy who was only 12 years old. Usually the adults and the minors are kept separate, so I don't know how they could have enlisted him, but he went willingly. We knew about their plan to sneak out, and Meredith insisted we let them follow through so we could see how so many were escaping, and then just apprehend them again afterward. But so many of these things have been going wrong lately." He sighed heavily, and then his glass was empty again. "They all seem to prefer to fight and die than just return to the Circle. I was going to see if you would… accompany me in following them, that maybe you could try to get them to see reason and return on their own. Maybe if you were there, a fellow mage, they would have listened, or at least we could make sure no harm came to the boy. They weren't supposed to try the escape until tomorrow, at least according to our sources. But they must have been tipped off. That's why I didn't want to tell you there, in case someone overheard. We have so many new recruits… and some of them are so damned overeager." His voice got sharp, rising in anger as he finished.

Avery sat in stunned silence, feeling her throat go dry. Based on Cullen's face, she was sure she knew what the inevitable outcome had been.

"Did the boy make it?"

He shook his head. "One of the other mages… used his blood. He tried to fight back, but he just didn't have the strength that they did."

"Maker's breath," she whispered, feeling the tears sting her eyes again. "Those bastards."

"If that blighted little shit Charlie… thinking he was going to march in and handle it himself… if he'd just kept his mouth shut and his sword sheathed!"

"He's the one who tipped them off?"

"No, but he was with us when we found them. Anyway. That's…" He took the bottle of whiskey from her hand, taking a long swig directly from it. He handed it back and she did the same. "And then the boat had problems, something with the sail.. I don't know much about boats. I kind of hate them actually."

She felt the warm burn of the liquor fire up a numbing blaze inside of her that was matched only by her anger at the scene Cullen described. She seethed, angry at the mages, at the Templars, at Meredith and Charlie and herself, for not being there. She felt her controlling hold on her magic grow weaker, her mind blurring and connecting with the veil, inciting a shimmer of energy to spread under her skin.

Cullen turned his head sharply to her, his eyes dark and fierce, apparently sensing the magic gathering within her, and before she had a chance to say anything she felt the nauseating pulse of a Templar silencing spell, hitting her like a punch to the gut. She heaved slightly, and then immediately felt drained, empty. The magic flowing in her had been sucked out with a sickening lurch, leaving only the fire in her gut from the uneasy combination of fury and whiskey.

"I…. Sorry… that's just an automatic reaction now," he said. "I can hardly help it. You were… what were you going to do?"

"Nothing…" she sighed, letting her body go limp around the burning in her stomach, "Nothing, sorry. I was just getting upset."

"Maker's breath, Hawke. What is it that we think we're doing together!? You're a mage, I'm a Templar… we can't… we can't expect to…"

"I know… I know. I keep forgetting too," she said. She took another deep drink of the whiskey and then stood on shaky legs. "But I don't condone this…this madness that the mages are partaking in. I am just as horrified as you," she cried, feeling a sob creep up into her throat. "To be perfectly honest, I am not even sure what side I am on anymore. I don't think I'm truly on anyone's side, except for maybe the side of sanity. Maybe for people just being people and not turning into crazed, bloodthirsty killers. I just… I know you're a Templar, but I have been choosing to think of you more as just a person, though it's been hard for me too you know. You guys are not exactly paragons of morality yourselves lately. Ask some of your newer Tranquil girls about Ser Alrik if you'd like a little eye-opener. But you, Cullen, you seem so… like you need a friend. And I need a friend and this city is a fucking madhouse and…. I can't help that I was born with magic, okay?" She stopped herself, admonishing herself for dumping so much on him at once. "What am I supposed to do!? I was made this way!" She sighed, swallowing down any desire to cry again.

"Maybe I should leave you. I can show you where the other room is."

In a rush of frenzied motion, she found herself facing Mother's bedroom door, her hand lingering at the knob but not touching. All the breath felt sucked out of her, in the same way her magic had just been. Oh Maker, this was a bad idea. Her mother too, her sweet, loving mother, had been lost at the hands of a demented blood mage. Worse, according to the note she'd found by the monster's shrine, he'd gotten the books about necromancy and blood magic directly from First Enchanter Orsino.

This city was bloody doomed.

The sour sting of bile rose in her throat and she found herself gasping for air, feeling like she was drowning in the empty space around her. She closed her eyes and steeled herself, and in a single swift motion turned the knob and pushed the door open for the first time since the day she'd returned home without her.

It still smelled like her. She didn't even have to go in to sense it. The delicate floral scent carried her directly to a memory of her Mother's face, her neck crudely stitched onto someone else's body. A whole bunch of someone elses. "I love you. You've always made me so proud," she'd said before taking her last breath.

Before she knew what she was doing Avery had pulled the door shut again and turned to walk back to the fire, but instead crashed directly into the metal body that she hadn't heard come to stand behind her. Cold arms came up to steady her, a heavy hand finding its way to her waist. She waited a moment, trying to quiet her mind and the overwhelming grief that was pounding in her chest. The hand on her waist tightened and for a second, she leaned into it. Grateful for the solid rock that held her up.

"Maybe you should take my room instead…" she whispered. She slipped out of his grasp and went directly for the whiskey bottle.

"Where will you sleep?" came his voice, trailing behind her, its soft cadence gentle and soothing.

"Out here," she said as she collapsed back onto the floor. Shortly after, he settled himself down beside her again.

"Well that doesn't make any sense. Most likely I won't sleep anyway, so it might as well be me out here on the floor." He took the bottle from her and placed a heavy hand on her back, the same he had their first day together at the ledge.

She sniffled and blinked the rest of the tears out of her eyes and melted down into the numbness of the whiskey, into the warm heaviness resting between her shoulder blades.

"I could help you with that. I'd have to use magic, which I don't have any of right now obviously. But in a little while, once it's restored. I could help you sleep and keep the nightmares away. If you want," she offered and finally looked up into his warm, golden eyes.

When had he become so beautiful? Even the shadows under his eyes seemed precious to her all of a sudden. She wanted to look away, knew she probably should look away, but he wasn't. He was just sitting there, looking strong and kind and almost, if she didn't know better, she might think that he truly cared.

"You mean a spell?" he asked, removing his hand from her back.

She nodded. "I promise you'll be safe here."

He looked into the fire again, swallowing audibly as he considered her words for several long, anxious seconds.

"Maybe I'll just sit out here and talk to you instead. About something other than mages and death for a change. If that's okay," he said quietly. "We can leave all the heaviness out there in the street for a little while. I don't think I can bear to see you looking so sad for much longer."

She opened her mouth to speak and wasn't sure what to say. She had not expected that. He'd just silenced her magic that she wasn't even trying to use yet, which on its own was almost as good as a slap in the face, and then asked her what they were even doing together. Despite the kindness in his eyes, she truly wasn't expecting that he'd _want_ to spend more time with her.

"Um, are you sure? Even after my little outburst?"

"I had mine a few weeks ago. It's only fair that you get one too. And, it's not like you were wrong."

"Okay," she said, taking a deep steadying breath. "If you… if you really want to. Do you maybe want to get more comfortable? I can't imagine sitting around in all the metal is very pleasant."

"Good point." He looked down at his armor, and reached up for a clasp under a shoulder piece. "Where shall I put it?"


	4. Chapter 4

The whiskey was strong, Cullen's tunic still looked absurdly sheer, and Avery wasn't sure which of the of the two things were going to her head more. She'd begun to feel almost cautiously giddy, having ridden the strange emotional wave up from the depths of her grief and into the exhilaration of attraction and possibility. That Cullen, poor sleep deprived Cullen, had chosen to stay awake and talk to her rather than gain a much needed night of guaranteed sleep was still more than she could quite believe. But the momentary good mood and the glimmer of drunken hope seemed fragile, ready to crumble under the slightest pressure.

In its usual fashion as of late, the nagging voice in the back of her head had begun trying to talk her down from the spurious height, warning her against too much optimism. It reminded her that it was possible that he wasn't really staying awake to talk to her. Probably he just hadn't wanted any part of her magic, an idea supported by the fact that every time she failed to feel the familiar hum of mana within her, she was reminded of his knee-jerk reaction to her upset. Part of her knew she couldn't blame him, given everything that he'd seen and dealt with. But she couldn't deny the depressing reality that it was possible to be attracted to someone without trusting them. It was possible to want to take someone to bed, while still fearing the essence of what they are. It was possible that while under incredible duress, one might accept comfort from a person they'd never otherwise consider and might even normally despise.

Her own insecurity was tiring even to herself, but she knew she could expect little else, considering what had happened between her and the only two men she'd been close to in the past six years. She'd been rejected by both of them and twice now by Fenris. Despite Cullen's kind words, his other mixed messages reminded her that he had every reason to reject her too. Even if he showed an interest now, it could all fall apart once circumstances changed. It was enough to temper her giddiness before she let it become too apparent, to him or herself. It seemed safer to keep her hopes and expectations low.

Though she also couldn't deny any longer that she really wanted to touch him. That shirt, barely hiding the sculpted muscle beneath, the creamy skin that she had lain against to get warm, was all a cruel tease. His very existence seemed like it was taunting her. His face, his gold eyes, the curve of those lips, the strong jaw… it was all saying here is yet another beautiful man that you probably can't have. Maybe for a little while, maybe for tonight, but not truly. Not for real.

She was tempted to just drink more, drown out all those little voices of dissent, and just let happen whatever was going to happen. He had kissed her first after all, and back before they'd really tried to get to know each other. She could be completely way off base about everything. Maybe shutting her own brain up was the best possible option. Maybe thinking was the _very_ last thing she should be doing.

The sips of whiskey continued to burn her throat and stomach, but they traveled up to her head and fuzzed out the world a little more, slowly edging out all the stupid doubts that were clawing for attention.

"Why do I never see you with your friends anymore? Where are they?" he asked quietly. He'd filled his own glass again, apparently welcoming the heady indulgence with the same abandon that she was. The light of the fire shone through the warm caramel fluid, making it look like liquid amber. The same color as his eyes.

She'd been noticing that color everywhere she went lately, much to her dismay. The day before she had a cup of tea that was the color of his eyes. She'd seen a bronze belt buckle on a man in the markets that was the color of his eyes. She'd seen a pie made of pecan custard sitting in a window that was gold flecked with brown and she had laughed like a maniac. Had she been thinking of him so much because she'd been seeing it everywhere, or had she been seeing it everywhere because she'd been thinking of him? She'd been _trying_ not to think of him. Trying not to imagine wrapping her arms around him and easing all his considerable pains and worries away, trying not to remember their one kiss in greater detail, calling up how he tasted and how perfect his lips were.

"That… is an excellent question," she began. "The short answer is that we still don't know where Isabela is. Things with Anders are… complicated. Same with Fenris. Merrill and I were never really close. Avy is up to her eyeballs in new guard recruits last I heard and barely has time to breathe. Varric is still where he's always been and any divide there is all my fault." She sighed. "I should probably go visit him soon."

Cullen nodded, swirling his whiskey around in his glass. "It seems like things are a mess everywhere."

She agreed.

"Is your family far away?" she asked.

He nodded again. "They are. I don't write to them like I should. I am not really sure what to say."

"Do you… not have any friends within the Order?" He shook his head.

"Fraternization with subordinates is discouraged," he said simply.

"But surely you made some friends before you were Knight-Captain?"

"Well, I haven't always been stationed here in Kirkwall. I was transfered in. Everyone I knew before that are… gone.." His eyes grew dark and his lips drew together tightly, signaling quite clearly that that line of questioning would probably lead to something heavy. They were supposed to be leaving the heaviness outside. Perhaps that would be a better conversation for another time, if he wanted to have it at all.

She nodded and sat quietly for a while, trying to think up something that might not lead to the topic of magic or death or any number of other horrors. Maybe something a little more relevant to… whatever it was that they were doing.

"I see. So then there probably isn't anyone… special in your life, then?" she began, feeling almost deliriously emboldened by the whiskey. "I mean I guess, if there were, you'd probably be with them right now and not me."

He shook his head again, confirming her assumption, his eyes still trained on the contents of his glass.

"I'm surprised."

He snorted, his eyes glowing gold again, replacing the darkness she'd just seen there. His lip curled slightly, and she was glad to see that she'd steered the conversation out of rough waters.

"No time?" she asked.

He nodded, his lip curling higher, becoming an almost half-smile. "No time," he confirmed. "And there hasn't really been anyone who's caught my interest. At least not in a long time."

"How long has it been?"

He met her gaze for a moment, and then looked away again, his cheeks flushing pink.

"Years," he said. "Quite a few of them, in fact."

Avery was taken aback.

"No friends and no… anything else, for years? That sounds very lonely."

"I stay very busy for the most part. And I haven't been in a good enough place to really get close to anyone, even if I had the opportunity. But yes. It is." He sighed, and emptied his glass again in a single gulp. His eyes were glossy, his reddened lids drooping low, and she could feel a vast sea of thoughts churning around behind them. If she hadn't been there, prodding him with questions, he probably would have been completely lost to it. Or he'd be trying to sleep, but fighting nightmares.

"Why are you surprised?" he asked, his gaze flicking over to her. She couldn't meet it, afraid she'd give too much away.

"Why wouldn't I be surprised? You're handsome and sweet and _good_ …" she said.

"I am not always very sweet. Or good."

"Well you're always handsome," she said. Maker, she couldn't seem to help herself.

He gave a little laugh, and she looked over just in time to catch the smile on his face before it fell away again.

"I was a very angry man after my transfer, because of some of the things I… endured. It's only very recently that that has changed. Ironically it has taken being faced with some of the same extremism that I used to espouse, to show me how ineffective it can be."

She was quiet again.

"So you and Anders…" he began, the words left hanging there.

"There is no more me and Anders." For the first time she realized he didn't know that Fenris was a part of that little experiment too. What would he think if he found out?

"Yet you said it was complicated. Forgive me for saying so, but that doesn't sound complicated," he said. "Either you're together or you're not, right? And now you're not?"

She gave a sad laugh. That was how things were supposed to be.

"Yes. You're right. It was complicated for a while there I guess, but now it's pretty simple," she agreed. Simplicity. She might have had it for a fleeting moment, but she was managing to fall back into complication again. She seemed to have a talent for that. She sighed, her head feeling foggy and heavy.

Spurned on by an aching in her back, she sat up straight to try to stretch out, wishing she had something to lean back against. Sitting on the floor meant hunching over crossed legs, and constantly switching up positions to head off cramps and sore joints. First order of business at the next opportunity would be to get some kind of actual seating. She rubbed at the back of her neck, and considered just lying down.

"What happened?" he asked. "You don't have to tell me, I just…"

"What?"

"I don't understand why anyone would leave you." His cheeks were still pink, and he kept his eyes cast down.

Avery blinked numbly, trying to process the words. Had he really said that? She felt a warm flush spread over her body, beginning in her belly and working up to her cheeks. She tried to stifle a smile and for a blessed moment, all the insecure little voices in the back of her mind were quiet.

She laughed softly. He couldn't imagine? She almost asked 'A Templar can't imagine leaving a mage?' but realized that would just take them back to that same place they were trying to avoid. She was trying to avoid.

"He… preferred someone else." A flash of Anders and Fenris darkened her mind for a moment and she flung the memory away.

"So he hurt you? Is that why you go to the ledge? Is that why you were crying when you came to the door?"

"Part of it. On top of everything else we're all dealing with right now," she said. Anders. Stupid beautiful Anders. Stupid beautiful Fenris. Sitting there beside Cullen, she finally felt truly glad that they were gone, at least for the moment. "And then also my…" she stopped. She hadn't said the words yet, but her mind was already there. The one place that could instantly and profoundly destroy any feeling of happiness.

"Your mother?"

She nodded, taking a deep, steadying breath and pouring herself another glass of whiskey. How many was this now? Five? Six? She certainly felt it. She was wobbly and loose, and like she was surfing a rough, emotional sea, never sure whether she was going up or down.

Cullen's hand fell onto her back again and she looked over to him. His face was open and kind. She'd seen flashes of his anger a few times since they'd first met that day, but despite all they'd talked about there was none of that visible now. She wouldn't have blamed him for being an angry man. He had every reason to be. She was pretty angry herself, somewhere underneath all the other stuff.

"Is that how you like to be comforted?" she asked him.

"Oh, I'm sorry if it bothers you…" he said, pulling his hand away.

"No, it doesn't. It's very nice actually. I was just wondering," she began. "Since it's the first thing you do when I get all... melancholy. I appreciate it though. Very much." And yet he'd had no one to do the same for him, despite whatever hardships he dealt with on a regular basis in the Circle? No one to offer a simple soothing touch in years?

"Actually, now that you mention it, my mother used to rub my back whenever I was upset or not feeling well as a child… I guess it's just what I know to do."

She studied his weary features, and felt that deep ache of sympathy for him again. Her gaze traveled openly along the lines of his face, to those bruised looking shadows that nestled around his tired eyes. At least in focusing on him, not as a Templar but just as a person, someone clearly troubled and in need of a friend, she could seem to leave her own pain in the dark. He arched his back and she heard several loud pops as he stretched. This blighted floor.

She had an impulse, a blurry, drunken idea and before she could think the better of it she found herself sliding behind him, positioning herself directly to his rear and rising on her knees so that she was eye level with the top of his head. He twisted around, trying to figure out what she was doing, but she gently prodded him back to where he was.

"My father would rub my back too, but he'd do it a little differently. I'll show you," she said as she laid her hands on his shoulders. "It might help if you're starting to get sore. Sorry again for not having anywhere proper to sit."

"Please, there is no need to apologize for being hospitable," he teased. "You're giving me a free place to stay for the night. I certainly can't complain."

She could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin linen, and the body beneath was firm, swelling with the curves of muscle. Would he mind? Being touched so much by a mage? If he did, she supposed he'd let her know. He certainly didn't seem terribly averse to touching her, moving on his own to rub her back when he felt she needed it. She took a deep breath, and began at the top of his shoulders, kneading and massaging the deep tissues on either side of his neck. She pressed gently at first, squeezing slow circles into the tense flesh. His hair smelled like leather and seawater, and she felt shaky, nervous, and more intoxicated than ever.

Cullen responded immediately to her touch, twitching slightly at the pressure and then bearing into it, bracing himself against the ministrations of her hands. Slowly he began letting his body yield and sway with her movements. She worked patiently, pulling all the knots that she could find loose, lingering in place until she felt them slowly begin to give and then melt away. She worked her way down to the thick cords of muscle along his spine, and the thick pads of flesh over his shoulder blades. In a few places he yelped as she circled knuckles into the tense spots. Since she was feeling a slight restoration of her mana, she followed up some of the more troublesome knots with a gentle pulse of healing.

After several minutes, his head slumped forward, hanging loosely as the occasional groan rumbled in his throat. The sound sent a peal of arousal through her, pooling low in her belly and rippling down between her legs.

Maker, he felt so good under her hands, and he hadn't protested at all. She relaxed a little bit herself, beginning to feel more confident.

She already knew that his back and chest were a marvel to behold, but under her fingers he became something else; his graceful curves burned with warmth, and all that effortless strength proved to also be soft and gentle. It took great control not to lean forward and brush her lips across the back of his neck. He looked so different than Anders and Fenris, he smelled different and Maker did he _feel_ so different. He was uniquely, deliciously _Cullen_ , and she felt herself consumed by his presence while she worked on him, letting the rest of the room fall away as she traveled and explored the landscape of his musculature. She put all her focus into her hands, rubbing out every twinge of discomfort she could locate, and slowly he gave up all his tension, his arms and neck hanging looser, his shoulders slumping toward the floor.

With another satisfied groan, he began to lean backward until his body was resting hot and heavy against hers. At first she thought he might not have meant to do it, until his head came back and settled comfortably on her shoulder. She suppressed a shudder, wanting to nuzzle into him, to open her body and let him in completely. She parted her legs a little wider, allowing him to sink further back against her.

"Have you ever had anyone do this to your hands?" she whispered into his ear as she rubbed at the sides of his narrow waist. It had been a long time since anyone had massaged her hands, and she resolved to show him that too once they were in a better position. "It feels amazing."

"I don't remember the last time I was touched at all, that wasn't just being hit. Until lately."

Avery couldn't fathom a life completely devoid of touch. To go years without a simple hug? A comforting caress? It only made her want to do more, to make up for all the years he'd been lacking, wanting.

She released his waist and ran her hands down his arms, squeezing and massaging along the way, pressing into the corded meat of his forearms. His face turned slightly toward her, coming closer into her neck and she glanced down at him, seeing his brow finally softened and his eyes closed. She was glad to see him look so relaxed and at ease.

It was difficult to continue the massage with him leaning up against her, but she was not ready to give up her explorations. She shifted from deep massaging to lighter caresses, trailing her fingers lightly back up his arms. One of her own arms slid under his and brought it around to rest on his chest, thrilling at the firm definition she felt. It was a cruel irony that the act of fighting and killing could carve such beauty from the human form. And he must have spent an inordinate amount of time fighting to feel as sculpted and solid as he did. His temple brushed against her cheek and she heard his breaths, his chest rising and falling in long, slow waves. Her other hand traveled back up his shoulder, sliding over the exposed skin of his neck and threading through his hair. He groaned again and let his head fall back further as she rubbed at his scalp. One of his hands reached behind him to rest firmly on her thigh.

"I can't imagine what it might be like to go that long without being touched," she said softly. "I hate the thought that you've never had anyone there for you. With everything you must go through…."

"I guess I… just didn't know what I was missing."

Maker he felt so good, so warm and solid and real. Avery kept her touch gentle, enjoying the velvety softness of his skin under the strokes of her hands, the way his body melted back into her, completely relaxed but still responsive, moving with her. She tried to keep from staring down his cheek at his parted lips, lips that she could probably take that very moment with little resistance. She wanted to, wanted to climb around until she was on his lap, and completely wrap herself around him until they were melded into one being. But despite the desperation of the impulse, she held back. The bottle of whiskey was sitting in front of the fire, emptied completely, and he'd had considerably more than her. The last thing she wanted was for him to come to in the morning and regret… everything. She'd had enough of that sort of thing already.

"Let me help you sleep, Cullen. Let me take your nightmares away. I want to give you some peace," she said gently into his ear, conjuring up all the self control she had not to take his earlobe between her own lips.

"You already have," he breathed.

His head turned more and his eyes opened, the deep amber pools landing first on her lips, then dragging up to meet her gaze. He wanted to kiss her too. She could see the spark desire there, could feel the pull of his parted lips to hers. But she was stopped by the quiet crisis of conscience she was having. If he was going to kiss her, if they were going to do this, she wanted him to be sure. She couldn't handle another heartbreak so soon. She wanted him so badly, Maker, she was positively _aching_ for him. Her body was singing with sensation in every place that they were joined. It was overpowering, sweeping all her thoughts and feelings into a big, confusing jumble. But her recent experiences were too sharp in her memory, piercing straight through her fog of drunkenness and desire with the knowledge that it would hurt so much more if she had him tonight, only to find out tomorrow that he'd changed his mind, or had too many doubts. He wouldn't always be able to ignore the fact that she had magic, especially with the current trajectory that the city was on. She need him to be sure. And if he had gone back to the ledge to retrieve the letter, if he was proceeding through their little… whatever it was, with such caution, then he obviously wasn't.

She decided to finally stop torturing herself and she pulled back, propping herself up on aching legs and taking his hand. He obeyed quietly, padding behind her as she walked him up the stairs to her bedroom. Before they entered she felt his other hand come up and land on her back again, slowly trailing down to her waist, giving rise to swarms of goosebumps on her skin.

She pulled the blankets down on the bed and he climbed in, moving groggily, as though he were already partly asleep.

"There's only a few more hours until the sun comes up, but at least it's something," she said.

He collapsed heavily and burrowed into her pillow.

"It smells like you," he crooned. She settled on top of the blankets beside him, her face level with his. Not too close, but within touching distance.

"In the letter…." He began just after his eyelids drooped closed, "I said that Anders was a lucky man. But now I see that he is just a fool."

She felt herself smile, warming blissfully from the inside out. But it was still the letter he didn't want her to read. It was nice to hear, but it wasn't enough.

His hair was soft under her fingers, and she combed through it as he sighed into her pillow. Her fingers lingered for a moment and she opened up the veil, taking a slow sip of mana. She began weaving the energy into a gentle sleep spell and then pushed it down and into her fingertips.

"Goodnight Cullen," she said as she felt the spell leave her hands, flowing into him. His brows softened again, and his body seemed to sink slightly into the bed. When it was done she brought her hand down to caress the stubbled line of his jaw and to brush gently over the curve of his lips. For the moment at least, she felt at peace too.

The sky outside her window was a deep blue when she was jolted awake. Cullen was whimpering and beginning to thrash, and for a moment she wasn't sure where she was or who she was with, feeling herself seized by a cloudy streak of irrational fear. The sounds of his voice broke through her sleepy fog, and she remembered that Cullen was beside her, and apparently caught within the throes of a nightmare. She'd thought her initial spell would have been potent enough to keep his brain in the deeper levels of sleep and staying out of dream production, but his mind was apparently much stronger than she'd anticipated. She pulled herself closer to him and gently stroked his head, pulsing another dose of the sleep spell into him.

"Cullen," she whispered, "everything is okay. You're safe."

He quieted back down immediately, his body falling still again. She lay in the dark for a moment, her heart pounding in her ears as she waited, listening for any sign that the dream might be fighting to continue through her spell. Whatever haunted him was very strong indeed.

The minutes ticked by with only stillness, and her own lids drooped closed, but she kept her hand resting against his cheek, ready to respond again at the first sign of a dream.

The second time she woke, it was him jumping awake, sitting bolt upright and looking around wildly. She laid a calming hand on his arm and he startled a moment, then looked at her numbly as the memory of the night before came creeping back.

"Avery?" he asked, and then he was out of bed, walking briskly out the door of her room.

She followed to see him putting on his armor beside the fireplace as Bodahn stood in the corner of his room, offering a nervous greeting.

"I'm sorry, I've got to get back." He called to her as she approached, "I'm probably already late for my morning meetings."

Her head was pounding, the sunlight through the window harsh and unforgiving. Each movement of her neck caused her to wince, and she pushed a wave of healing over herself, sighing once the hangover began to drain away.

When finally he was fully composed, he stopped for a moment and regarded her quietly.

"Thank you Avery," he said. Despite the use of her first name, it sounded uncomfortably formal. She wondered if it was due to the presence of Bodahn, or if he had woken with regrets, just as she'd feared.

She stepped forward with a hand up, intending to send him a wave of healing to help any hangover he might have, but she froze when he flinched noticeably at her approach.

She push a wave at him anyway, and saw relief bloom on his face as it hit, presumably clearing up the pounding headache he must have been feeling too.

"Cullen," she nodded and turned away as he left, feeling the old familiar sadness resume its residency in her stomach. While she'd awoken several times in the night wishing she'd just kissed him when she had the chance, she was now grateful that she had exercised what restraint she did. She could only imagine how much worse she'd feel in the cold shadow of his departure if there'd been anything more.


	5. Chapter 5

After bathing and dressing there was only one thing Avery could think of to do: get out of the bloody house. It was definitely time for a change in the place, somewhere, somehow. She stalked over to the Hightown markets and after talking to several merchants, found a way to procure a new sofa and a few more chairs, a new rug and a painting for the living room. She picked up two more bottles of Rivaini blend whiskey, a couple sets of commoner clothes and a set of leathers, thinking it might be time to leave the mage robes in her bureau more often, since they seemed to make her so conspicuous as she moved through the city. On impulse she'd even purchased a pair of double sided daggers that had caught her eye. They had long, hooked blades on one end, and shorter, feather shaped serrated blades on the other, with red leather wrapped handles that sported an onyx so deep it seemed to swallow up all the light around it. For the first time since Isabela disappeared with the Qunari relic, Avery found herself wishing she was still around. Isabela's overly bawdy antics had gotten a bit tiresome in the months before she disappeared, and Avery could never seem to please her profiteering ideals whenever she took her out on jobs, but the pirate was the only one Avery knew who'd been proficient in double daggers. And, she'd work for booze.

The last thing Avery wanted was a drink, but she made her way down to the Hanged Man anyway, figuring it was as good a time as any to go visit Varric.

He wasn't surprised that she'd come, but he did make a sour face at her appearance.

"Hawke," he began. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like shit."

She laughed, dropping down into a chair beside his desk.

"Thanks Varric. It's nice to see you too."

"Don't tell me you actually miss all their bickering and…. Whatever else it is they do together," he sighed. "Please don't tell me what, because I don't want to know."

"Are you sure about that? It'd probably make a great book. Two mortal enemies, coming together in an unexpected love…"

"No thanks, someone else can write that one. You are still struggling with all that though? Or is there another reason for those bags under your eyes?"

"Well it's only been a few weeks, so yeah. But I think I'm also just really tired."

"You'd think you'd be all full up on sleep now that you have your house to yourself."

She shrugged, feeling sad and weary.

Varric closed his notebook and sat back to look fully at her.

"I know you've probably been staying away because you think I'm going to have something to say about how that whole thing worked out. But kicking people while they're down isn't really my style. At least not unless your name is Bartrand."

"Well that's good I guess," she said. She did feel relieved. He'd been so adamant that it was a bad idea that she was sure he'd have at least some veiled sort of admonishment, at the very least.

"Look, I've actually been meaning to talk to you. I just want to say that it's been an honor knowing you."

Avery sat in stunned silence for a moment, not sure whether to be worried or to laugh.

"Uh… Varric, are you about to die?" she laughed nervously, "Or am I? Why so serious all of a sudden?"

"Don't panic, I just needed to get that off my chest. You know it was over six years ago that I found you dragging your tail out of Bartrands office? It's a vague anniversary of sorts I guess."

"Is that all? Maker it feels like it's been sixty."

"Hey speak for yourself. I don't look a day over twenty eight."

"Right. Sure." Avery laughed.

"Anyway, you in for some Wicked Grace tomorrow? I convinced Aveline and Donnic to try to make it down, maybe even Merrill."

"Maybe. We'll see," she said.

"Aw come on Hawke. When did you become such a shut in?" he asked, "Nevermind, I know the answer to that. Well I'm gonna have a pint waiting for you anyway, so you'd better not disappoint me."

She laughed again and bid him goodbye, leaving him to his writing. She walked down the hallway feeling a little bit better knowing that things were okay between them, but she'd feel even better still if she could get that damned Templar out of her head.

That damned Templar. The last person in Thedas she should be thinking about incessantly. She'd felt for a while during the day that she was doing well keeping the memories of him at bay, before she realized that some little image of him seemed to be hovering in the background of every single other thought she had. They'd shared some genuine moments the night before, and those moments just wanted to play over and over again behind her eyes, resisting all attempts to drown them in other activities. She'd only made it half way down the long hall back into the bar before she was overcome with the recollection of his scent, of the warmth of him pressed up against her. She paused and sank into it for a moment for the first time since he'd left, letting the scenes and images roll through her mind unabated. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself leaning against the grimy wooden wall of the hallway, her fingertips resting lightly at the base of her throat. Shaking away the vision, she continued on. She could think of nowhere else to go but home.

She descended the stairs and turned toward the door, running directly into a lanky, familiar body.

"Fenris?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I saw you go up, so I've been waiting here, hoping to catch you." he said.

"Oh?" she asked as she reclaimed her bearings, "Is something on your mind?"

"Well, yes. Nothing to worry about, but, would you maybe want to join me for a pint?" he asked, his green eyes shining hopefully.

"Actually I had quite a bit to drink last night. I think I'm going to give my liver a break today."

He raised a black eyebrow and frowned. "I didn't see you here last night."

"Yeah, it was at home. Just a little too much whiskey. Anyway, what did you need?"

"Well… how about I walk you to, wherever you're going then. We can talk on the way?" He motioned toward the front door and held it open while she walked through. He was quiet, his brows drawn in thought and Avery began to feel a little anxious. Was everyone in Kirkwall needing to talk to her today? She figured it was to be expected considering she'd been avoiding so many people for the past few weeks.

"Is this about Anders?" she asked. "Did you ever find out what he had going on?"

"No, I haven't. So you two still aren't talking?" he asked. They made their way through Lowtown, passing through the mostly empty streets at a leisurely pace. Avery noticed how the cool breeze had cleared out the usual smell of death and piss. Or it could have been the simple fact that there had been fewer bodies out there actually doing all the dying and the pissing.

"I saw him for a moment last night, in his clinic. He certainly did look… preoccupied. But I'm not sure I even want to know what's going on there. I don't think I have the energy for all that right now."

"You do look tired," he commented.

"So I'm told," she sighed. At least he hadn't said she looked like shit.

"Are you… _alright_ , Hawke?" He was watching her carefully. Avery recognized genuine concern reflected in his eyes and quickly felt it begin to soften the stiffness within her that she hadn't even realized she was carrying.

"I have been thinking of you a lot lately. I wanted to tell you that I… really regret the way things turned out," he continued.

She stopped walking and leaned against the rail overlooking the steps to the docks. He stood close, studying her intently as she cast her eyes around. It was tough to meet those green eyes. Despite his gruff demeanor, he was capable of giving looks of such deep soulfulness that it would immediately melt away all her defenses. She'd found one of the only ways to retain her resolve around him was simply not to look too much at his face.

"I have been better," she said. "A lot has happened over the last year or so. I guess it's all catching up with me at once."

"I see. I hope you know that I am always here, if you need anything." He said quietly. "Despite what happened with Anders, you are still… very important to me." Avery stared at her feet. She knew exactly what his face looked like when he said things like that, and knew her heart couldn't take seeing it. Not after the emotional whirlwind of the last 24 hours. She swallowed hard and kicked at a little rock.

"Why is with everyone talking like this today?" she asked through a shaky laugh.

"Like what?"

"I don't know, first Varric and now you. Getting all serious, like you're about to say a big goodbye or something. It's making me nervous."

"Hmm. Perhaps because it does feel like everything is changing? Our little group feels… splintered. You were always the one holding us together, but now you seem to be lost in your own little world. I suppose that is my and Anders' fault."

"It's not just you. It's… everything."

Fenris brushed his fingers lightly on her chin, caressing up to her cheek. She finally looked up to meet his worried eyes. She'd never been able to stay angry at the man, even the first time he crushed her by walking out on her. It wasn't his fault he'd been flooded with upsetting memories. She'd tried hard to understand that, and though it took a while, she'd eventually come to feel more sympathy than anger.

"Things _are_ changing," she told him. "I've been fighting for a living for a very long time now and I'm ready for something new I think. There has to be more to life than just… death."

"I see. Well, you should take the viscount position. They're clambering to have you, and you're the best person for it. It would give you something new to do. Plus it might afford you some extra protection from Meredith," he said, and he stepped a little closer, his voice lowering as though he wanted to make sure he wasn't being heard. His eyes sharpened as he looked past her, glaring down the stairwell of the docks.

"Do I need to be protected from Meredith?" she laughed.

"You'd be a fool not to think so. Despite all your contacts, you're still an apostate, Avery."

"Ooh, using my first name. You must really be serious," she teased. She'd been asking them all to do it for so long, but they'd all insisted that using her surname was too hard a habit to break. She'd been Hawke back when they were all just getting to know her, before they'd become more than just business partners and grew into friends. It had just stuck.

"You joke, but I really am serious. I worry about you. Meredith might have tolerated you up til now, but her methods are getting more and more extreme. And you are not untouchable, as much as we all might want you to be." Fenris continued to look past her and his expression darkened into a grimace. Curious, Avery turned to follow his gaze, her eyes landing on a group of shiny metal bodies standing at the foot of the stairs. Her heart jumped as she recognized a collection of Templars large enough that it could only have meant an imminent raid about to happen somewhere in Lowtown. Within the sea of metal, a pair of golden brown eyes watching her and Fenris intently. She took a moment to look back at Cullen, his face placid and unreadable. He barely looked like the man she'd emptied a whole bottle of whiskey with the night before, and if he hadn't been staring at her, she'd never have known that he even recognized her at all. She gave a polite nod, swallowing her disappointment, and led Fenris away, continuing toward the stairs to Hightown.

"See, that made you nervous too. And for good reason," he observed.

She nodded quietly, her mind lost again to very recent memories. Memories of velvety skin and parted lips.

"If you won't consider taking the viscount position, perhaps you might consider leaving the city for a little while. It is possible that with time, all this will blow over," he suggested. "Or at least you can be elsewhere when it all comes to a head, so you don't get swept up in the fray. I'll come with you. We've got the coin. We'll want for nothing."

"What about Anders?" she asked.

"What about Anders? He _wants_ to be in the middle of this mess. Besides, he and I aren't speaking either."

"Ah, just like the good old days," she joked again. He didn't laugh.

"He has changed quite a bit in such a short period of time. Everything I didn't like about him originally has only become more… enhanced. I think whatever foolishness we were up to before is done."

"Is that so? Do you think that would still be the case if I hadn't kicked you out?"

"Without question."

"Do you think it would still be the case if he hadn't turned into such an insufferable curmudgeon?"

He snorted. "Probably. It was preposterous to think we could do anything other than hate each other. But I don't know."

"Plenty of people manage to overcome their differences for love," she sighed. "Opposites attract or whatever, right?" Like mages and Templars, for instance.

"Perhaps for some. You almost sound as if you prefer us together," he said.

"I'd prefer it if the reason that I was rejected by two men that I loved deeply wasn't just some silly, momentary diversion. I don't think what's left of my heart could handle that."

Fenris stopped again, stepping in front of her. She studied the lines on his chestplate for several heartbeats, feeling the aching in her stomach begin to throb. Finally she looked into his luminous, wounded eyes and tried hard to muster up a scowl.

"I don't know what came over us. It felt real. It felt important. But I don't know what it really was. And you're right, you deserved so much better than to be tossed aside like that. I wish I could make it up to you." He paused. He shifted on his feet, swallowing audibly. "Avery, you're the only real friend that I have ever had. And you're the only reason Kirkwall feels like home, especially now that I don't have to worry about Danarius. I hate that I hurt you again. I hope you can forgive me."

Avery blinked hard, trying to stop the tears before they flooded her eyes, and she nodded weakly. She knew that once the tears began, they would be impossible to stop and she wanted to be angry at Fenris. She thought it should be easy, considering how much time she had already spent stewing and seething at both of them. But she couldn't seem to hold onto it under the light of his obvious regret. It just slipped right through her fingers, like trying to hold onto water.

She felt an arm come around her and pull her into him, and she let herself be led into a tight embrace. It felt good. Despite Fenris' wiry frame, he was strong and his grip was solid, knowing exactly how to hold her. It had taken a long time to get him comfortable with showing affection, and he was still cautious about it. But yet he seemed to have no issue with the fact that they were standing in the middle of an open walkway in full view of passersby.

"Think about the viscount position. Or at least leave the city with me for a little while. Please?" he asked.

She nodded and took a deep breath. It felt good to know that she hadn't lost him completely. Same with Varric. She felt stronger, knowing there were still people she could count on. She sighed and looked toward the stairs to Hightown. She really had no desire to return home, knowing that on this particular night she'd only end up bouncing off the walls. Just the very thought of it made her feel like crawling out of her skin.

"You know, I think I'm going to go back and see what all those Templars are up to," she said as the thought occurred to her. "I think I need to find out why there were so damn many of them."

"Hawke, are you sure that's a wise move?" he asked. "One of these days you really are going to push your luck too far."

She sniffled and gave him a final squeeze, thinking that at the very least that she wanted another look at a certain blond Templar while she had the chance. She turned around decisively, taking long strides directly back toward Lowtown.

"Are you coming?" she called.

Cullen had his back to her as he approached and she immediately recognized the smooth skin of the back of his neck. She felt her nerves fire up, her breath sucked out of her at the memory of how that little patch of skin smelled, how it had felt under her intoxicated explorations. How it sounded when he'd groaned… Maker, she was in trouble. She slowed for the last several steps, trying to think of something intimidating to say, but came up with nothing. So she went with the first thing that came to her.

"Ooh look, a Templar party! Did anyone bring cake?"

The group of Templars had made it up the stairs and several were consulting with Cullen around a map.

Cullen turned abruptly, startled by her voice. He gave her a quick nod with a visible warmth in his brown eyes, despite his tensed jaw and authoritative posture.

"Very funny Hawke," he snorted.

"So no cake then. Well did you leave any Templars behind to watch the Circle? Those mages aren't going to oppress themselves you know." Someone in the group of Templars stifled a laugh and she turned her head sharply, trying to find the source.

Cullen only sighed. "Is there something I can help you with?" He raised an unamused eyebrow and his eyes flicked back to Fenris. Avery caught a brief flash of sharpness as he sized up the elf.

"Nope, just come to watch the Chantry's army of righteousness at work. If I didn't know better I'd almost think you were about to start going door to door, demanding to search people's homes or something."

Cullen remained ominously quiet as he handed the map off to one of the other soldiers.

"Excuse me Knight-Captain Ser," came a nasally voice from the crowd of shiny metal, "but she's an apostate herself. Why aren't we arresting her?"

Cullen whipped his head around and glared sternly at a skinny young man at the rear of the crowd.

"This, recruit, is the Champion of Kirkwall. She is _the_ reason this city wasn't completely destroyed by the Qunari, and it would be wise to show her some respect," he barked in a tone that left no room for argument. Avery suppressed a satisfied smirk as the kid avoided the annoyed glances of the other Templars.

Cullen turned back to Avery, training his commanding gaze on her. She felt a legion of butterflies take flight in her stomach. All-business Cullen never seemed to stammer at all.

"May I have a word?" He led her away without waiting for her answer.

"You're not really going to go door to door searching homes are you?" she whispered as they walked. Cullen was quiet, turning to look at her seriously once they were a distance from the rest. Avery could see several of the Templars eying Fenris, who was standing tense and coiled, watching Cullen with a restrained snarl.

"It's only a four block radius, in an area with numerous reports of harbored apostates," he said, frowning.

"Cullen!" she growled through her teeth, trying not to raise her voice. "How can you allow this?"

"I'm following orders," he hissed.

"These are terrible orders!"

"I don't have a choice in the matter Avery." He shifted on his feet, discreetly turning his back to the group behind them. "They've been given strict instructions about how to perform the searches to minimize incidents or damage. If the apostates would just give themselves up this wouldn't be necessary."

"And how are you so sure that these 'reports' are accurate? There are any number of reasons why someone might make a false claim against someone else."

Cullen squeezed at the bridge of his nose. "Do you really think I haven't thought of that? At least a few of them are credible."

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and stood quietly.

"Avery don't make this harder for me than it already is," he pleaded, his voice going soft.

"Doing this sort of thing, intruding in innocent people's homes, shouldn't be _easy_ for someone in a position of power to do Cullen."

"I don't disagree. I told Meredith that this was outrageous, and no way to win support from the people, and she threatened to have me suspended."

"So be suspended. Who cares?"

"I care! And it's not that simple," he snarled, catching himself and lowering his voice. "What if even one of those claims is true? What if one of those same innocent people dies unnecessarily at the hands of a blood mage that someone else is harboring? Is their life not worth a couple houses being looked into? What would you say if another child falls victim to some depraved abomination and we could have stopped it? If these apostates are so harmless, why not just give themselves up?"

"Give themselves up to go live in a glorified prison? I am sure you're aware, Knight-Captain, that the largest cause of death among mages in the Circle is suicide. Would that be the case if it was such a wonderful place to live?"

"Oh and you're such an expert. Who told you that, your healer friend? You've never spent a day of your life in any Circle from what I've heard. Have you even so much as set foot in one?"

"That's irrelevant," she hissed.

"Is it?" he demanded. "Who are you to think you know more than I do what goes on in the Circle!?" He stared hard at Avery with black eyes, his nostrils slightly flared.

" _Everyone_ knows how bad the Circle is. It's not exactly a secret, despite your attempts to make it so."

"Look. I don't like this any more than you do. Please just trust that I am going to make sure that this is over as quickly and as peacefully as possible."

She glared quietly, resisting the urge to hit him. She felt the buzz of her magic fire up in response to her anger, spreading its otherworldly hum through her veins. She saw him feel it almost immediately and he cocked a daring eyebrow, his eyes flicking quickly over to his group of Templars and then back to her, wordlessly asking her if she was really that stupid. She braced herself for his silencing spell, but his attention was caught by an approaching body behind her.

"I'm just upset again. You should know by now that I have better control than that," she said. Quiet, almost inaudible footsteps were approaching. By Cullen's wary expression she guessed that it was Fenris, coming to offer assistance after noticing how she had tensed up, possibly even sensing the hum of her magic.

"You're beautiful when you're angry," Cullen whispered quickly. "But you're always beautiful."

Any enraged retort died on her lips as she processed the meaning of his hushed flurry of whispers. She unclenched her fists and then he was gone, sliding past her and returning to his group of Templars.

"Hawke?" came Fenris' gravelly voice from several steps behind.

"It's fine Fenris. I mean…. No, it's not fine. But there's nothing we can do." He watched her warily as she gave him a weak, frustrated shrug. She felt the hum of her angry magic dissipating under her skin. Without a glance back she urged him on back toward the stairs to Hightown. With every step all she could think about was pushing Cullen against a wall and kissing him with the force of a fist.

The sofa came, the new rug was in place, the chairs situated. The painting, freshly hung over the fireplace seemed appropriate. It was a large seascape with blue waves of every shade, peaking and crashing under dark grey clouds. Despite the ominous tone to the imagery, the play on light and dark was breathtaking and something within its chaos felt _right_. It drew her eye to it as she moved about the room, calling up the rough boat rides over to the Gallows, even though she'd never gone under the threat of a storm.

She fidgeted, paced and walked circles around the rooms of her house, fingering the spines of books and the cool glass of various vases, bottles and windows. She was absurdly restless, her body and mind seeming to need something that nothing in her house could satisfy. Finally she threw on a thick, hooded cloak and then stopped on the way out the door to secure her newly purchased daggers to her back. She hoped their intimidating appearance would discourage any troublemakers from bothering her as she walked, and that she wouldn't actually need to use them. But it might be fun to try.

She was going to her spot, despite the fact that she'd told Cullen he could have it, and despite the fact that it was fully dark. It was foolish to go out so late, but she had to do something. She was tired of waiting for a knock at the door, a knock she knew wasn't going to come. At least not on this night. There was no way Cullen would have been able to get away from the Gallows two nights in a row, not after already spending so much time in Kirkwall proper that day. But she needed to move, needed to walk out the surging energy that was propelling her mind and body to spin in circles, thinking and doing the same pointless things over and over.

She briefly considered going to Fenris, but knew there was nothing there that would work the need out of her muscles. Maybe he would talk her through it, or try to. Maybe he would let her get all stupid on his cellar full of wine and then screw her until she no longer knew her own name. That might help, but even he wasn't the one she really wanted now.

The night was cold and the moon was a full, shiny orb that illuminated every detail of the empty streets. As her feet carried her closer and closer to the docks, she'd almost begun to convince herself that he might be there, waiting for her. She'd expected the usual crowds of troublemakers lurking in the shadows, but every alley she traversed was eerily quiet and abandoned. Even the street in front of the Hanged Man was devoid of drunken loiterers. While it was nice in its way, it sent a chill up her spine. Part of it could be attributed to the cold, since most Marchers were not accustomed to anything other than the heat and humidity that smothered the city for nine months out of the year. Part of it could be attributed to the lingering threat of a blood mage/Templar clash, fights which were guaranteed to include a number of innocent sacrifices and spawnings of demonic horrors. As she traveled she felt the Veil shimmer weakly around her, feeling thin and almost touchable. She'd heard rumors that due to old Tevinter occupation of the area, the Veil was extra thin in Kirkwall and that was part of what accounted for the abundance of blood mages here. But that might have just been propaganda put forth by the Order, not wanting to take responsibility for the extremes that they pushed their charges to.

Even the docks were quiet, each ship locked up tight with its residents and cargo nestled safely inside. It was exhilarating in its way, feeling as though she had the city almost entirely to herself. Perhaps it was this way more than she thought. Perhaps everyone had the good sense lately to stay locked within their homes, leaving the streets free of crime and depravity, only nobody knew that everyone they were trying to avoid was inside too. She certainly hadn't known.

She felt giddy, her steps turning almost into a skip, as she rushed through the streets, finding the very movement and freedom that she'd been aching for within the walls of her house. Even if Cullen was not at the ledge, the excursion was worth it for the empty streets alone.

As the path to the ledge got closer, her heart got louder in her ears, filling the silence around her with a pulsating rush. She was shaky with nerves as the corner she had to turn to get to the ledge grew larger in her vision, her mind warring between wanting him to be there and not wanting him to be there. She desired him now, that was a given. But it was still a very bad idea. A terrible, horrible, potentially soul-crushing idea. They had given each other solace within the madness of the city, but they were still inherently on opposite sides. Regardless of their opinions, regardless of what position they took, she had magic and he was a Templar. That could never, ever change.

She held her breath as she made the final approach, thrusting herself around the edge with a quickness that recalled the day they'd both crashed into the water together. And she found only an empty, silvery darkness, punctuated by the glinting of moonlight on the water. She sighed and sank down onto the bench, pulling the cloak tight around her and looking up into the clear night's sky. The jagged, distant silhouette of the Gallows, a spiking black absence of stars on the horizon, called to her heart like a siren. Somewhere on that brutal little island was Cullen. Was he thinking about her too? Was he lying in bed, sleepless as usual, tossing and turning, tangled in sheets and wanting the same things she was?

Ignoring the intrusion they'd been about to inflict on the community, she'd felt a new fire blazing within her when she'd seen Cullen in command. He was sure, confident and dominant, and yet another side of him that she'd either never seen or simply never noticed. How had he ever seemed so plain and unremarkable to her before? All those years he stood sentry in the Gallows, offering no more than polite small talk to those who approached, and she'd never given him a second thought. Until on this very bench she'd caught a glimpse under his deceptive facade, at the struggles that surely would have broken a weaker man. And then to see him standing strong and tall, completely in control. It was probably partly due to his strength that Meredith's crusade had been as far reaching and thorough as it was, even if Cullen felt secretly conflicted in his role. That little fact should have been enough for her to hate him, to swear him off completely. But he'd already dug his way somewhere deep under her skin. She didn't think there was any going back now. There'd be no returning to the ignorance of a month past, no purging herself of the knowledge of his strength, his scent, of the heat of his body.

Maker's breath, she really was in trouble. This was about as far from simple as she could get.

The minutes ticked by, turning into an hour, and she felt her eyelids grow heavy, her muscles worn tired by the exuberance of her walk. She'd found a small peace in the clarity of the night's sky, of the openness of the horizon and the lullaby of crashing water. This is what the ledge was for, not for meeting tortured, handsome Templars. It was for thinking, for solitude and stillness. A place of meditation and affirmation, to help her right her mind before she plunged back into the insanity of life. She knew it was helping when she'd begin to feel small, feel like an insignificant fleck on a vast canvas, swallowed up by the natural world before her, instead of weighed down by the expectations of the city behind her. She took a deep breath of the cold night air, hoping the streets would still be empty for her walk back. At the very least she could look forward to collapsing into bed and finding real sleep. She'd worked the manic energy out of her bones and she was tired. Truly and deeply tired.

"Avery?" his voice was almost a whisper and she stared numbly at the path leading to the corner.

He couldn't really be there. There was no way he was really there. She'd remained convinced of that as he took quiet steps toward her and it wasn't until he sank to his knees and his heavy chest and head fell into her lap, his arms circling her waist and pulling tight, that she believed it was real. His armor was cold and he was shivering.

"Cullen… what are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. I went to your house first. The dwarf went to your room to get you and said you weren't there, that you must have slipped out. I just… I just … I don't know. Am I crazy?"

She pulled her arms out of her cloak and threaded her fingers through his hair.

"No. I'm so glad you're here," she whispered through a giddy grin. He was resting his cheek on her thigh, his chest pressing against her knees as his shoulders slumped forward, shaking slightly with cold. She wanted so badly to fully hold him, but he was encased in his usual protective suit of metal.

He lifted his head to look at her, revealing dark bruising along the side of his face. She gasped, raising her fingers and habitually conjuring up some healing.

"Don't," he said. "If I go back with it fixed they'll know I've seen a healer. I'm only supposed to be tying up some loose ends before I return."

"So you can't stay? How will you get back?" she asked.

"I've paid the boatman to wait, but I can't make him wait too long, and I've already been running all over Kirkwall," she felt her spirits fall a little, but quickly reminded herself to just be thankful for the moments that they had. She hadn't been expecting him at all, much less to be out looking specifically for her.

"What happened?" she asked.

"There was a man, a very large man, who did not take kindly to our request for entry into his home," he said.

"And what happened to him?"

"He was arrested and handed over to Aveline, with instructions to release him in the morning."

His eyes were dark, bottomless pools as he gazed up at her and her hands were pulled to the lines of his face, her fingertips tracing the curve of his jaw, reveling in the dark stubble that coated his chin.

"I see. Does it hurt?"

"Yes," he laughed softly, "He was a very large man."

"Did you find any apostates?" she asked cautiously, feeling a twinge of fear at the answer.

"No," he whispered. She was quiet for a few moments. She knew she didn't need to say anything about it that he hadn't already thought himself. She decided to drop it, and just let him live with that knowledge without any additional input from her. She pushed it out of her mind.

"Well," she said, inspecting the puffy purple around the socket of his eye, "let me help with that a little. I'll make sure you still look terrible," she said and he laughed softly again. She wished there was more light than just the glow of the moon, so she could see him smile.

Her healing energy communicated the extent of his injury, and she sent vibrations beneath the skin, repairing a damaged nerve and a chipped section of bone, but she pulled back before the healing spread too far, leaving behind sections of swollen, bruised soft tissue. He groaned as most of the pain ebbed away.

He reached up to enclose her fingers in his and whispered, "These hands… these beautiful, miraculous hands..."

His palm was cold and calloused, and he gently pulled her hand down to his lips, laying a soft kiss on the tingling inner flesh of her wrist. It was enough to destroy any lingering doubts about what she wanted, however miniscule they'd already become. She gave in finally to that denied longing that had filled her the entire day, and she cupped his jaw, pulling his face toward her. She brushed her lips lightly against his and paused a moment to savor the softness, the texture of them. His mouth opened and she heard his sharp intake of air as she pressed in a little harder, taking his lower lip between hers and suckling gently. She could feel his hands move to squeeze at her waist, communicating his own faltering restraint and stoking the fire within her. Finally she dove in, merging fully with his hot mouth, taking his head in her hands in a deep, searing kiss.

He rose slightly, pushing himself closer and she banged up against that expanse of hardness that covered his body.

"This blasted armor," she pulled away and whispered, rapping her knuckles against the cold metal. "Take it off. Come up here and get warm."

He let out another soft laugh and released her from his grip as he began working quickly to remove the pieces. She helped however she could, and then stopped to unbutton and remove her cloak, hoping it would be large enough to cover both of them. When all the pieces were in a pile at her feet she pulled him to a stand and wrapped the cloak around him, guiding him down to the bench and climbing into his lap, throwing a leg over his thigh so that she was facing him in a straddle. She let out a groan of her own when his muscular arms wrapped completely around her, enfolding them both in the warmth of the heavy wool cloak and pulling her into his chest. His mouth mashed down onto hers, hungrily exploring, running his tongue over hers as he held her hard against him. She broke away from his lips and nipped down his jaw, gripping at the roots of his hair as she covered the hot skin of his neck in open mouthed kisses. He groaned, his hips writhing beneath her and she pulled back, taking a deep breath and looking into his eyes. He shifted uncomfortably and gave a nervous little laugh.

"Sorry… there are other, er, armor pieces a little lower that have, um, grown a little uncomfortable. I am kind of regretting leaving them on at the moment," he said. She raised herself up slightly, trying to relieve any pressure on his hips she might have been causing, but felt her attempts countered by his pressing hands.

"No, please, just stay right here for a little longer," he pleaded, "I'll survive the discomfort." He pulled her forward again, resting his face within the crook of her neck. She slid her arms around his broad shoulders and held him quietly, breathing in the familiar scent of his hair and pressing a kiss to his temple.

"I wish you didn't have to go," she whispered. His embrace was intoxicating, his body feeling gloriously thick and soft and warm. She ran her hands lightly over the hills and valleys of muscle, a landscape the previous night's explorations had only increased her desire for. She was thrumming with waves of wanting that reawakened her tired limbs, making it difficult for her to resist writhing against him, to resist obeying the call of her body to get him closer, to remove all obstacles between their flesh. Instead she took a deep breath and tried to hold on to her steadying thoughts. He couldn't stay, and she'd prefer that if they were going to make love, that their first time be somewhere she could lay him out and look at him, that she could see his desire for her reflected in his eyes before their bodies joined.

He kissed her again, gently and sweetly, his hands coming up to cup her head, and she let herself melt down into his kiss. She remembered vividly now, their first time, that unexpected kiss on this bench. How his mouth had tasted of lyrium, how his touch had felt so instantly right that she kissed him back without thought or hesitation. How it had soothed her aching soul in ways she didn't even realize until later, once all her tears were dry and she'd returned to her home, and all her reactionary outrage had tired itself out. This wasn't supposed to be the man who made her feel this way. This was supposed to be the man she opposed, who she worked against, who was her enemy and the enemy of all mages across Kirkwall.

But her heart wanted what it wanted now, circumstances and consequences be damned.


	6. Chapter 6

Ever since the torturously short half hour with Cullen four nights before, she'd felt locked into a dream. He'd left her to return to the Gallows and she'd breezed home, barely remembering anything about the walk, and then fell into bed, struggling to sleep for what felt like hours despite her tiredness. She just couldn't stop replaying the kisses, over and over, practically tasting them, feeling his hot breath against her neck, his fingers trembling as they threaded through her hair and tried not to dig too hard into her back... Maker, those lips, those arms… And there was the one moment that he let out an anguished little whimper as he clutched her close and came in for an urgent kiss, that continued to send shockwaves of desire through her that were so intense she could scarcely bear it. She had twisted around her sheets every night since, every cell in her body calling out to him, yearning to have him there wrapped up in her body, satisfying any and every need that he had. She had thought she was the one starved for touch, but he was the one who, somehow, survived going bloody years without so much as a simple caress. And, Maker, did it show. The man was tender and cautious, but also completely, impossibly ravenous.

The unexpected knock at the door put Avery's heart right into her throat. It was too early in the day to be Cullen, despite how instantly her hopes had been roused at the sound. But it was too unlikely. To come to her door before it was even noon would mean he'd be seen, they'd be seen, retreating together into her home. He couldn't possibly be bold enough to chance that. Even though her neighbors were used to the parade of friends that streamed in and out of her house over the past few years, seeing a lone Templar, and the Knight-Captain at that, would certainly raise some questions and rumors. If that got back to Meredith it could cause big problems for Cullen. They were going to have to be very careful.

She'd been sitting in her library, rereading the same paragraph in her book for an hour, the words before her eyes continuously blurring out and giving way to her inner theater. She didn't mind the lack of progress in her book. At least it looked to Bodahn like she was actually doing something, instead of just sitting mute and entranced, staring into space. The former would at least discourage unintentionally disruptive questions, so she could continue to daydream in peace. But then the knock came, almost a manifestation of her wishes, even as she knew it couldn't be possible. It took walking halfway to the front door before she realized the knock actually came from the door to the basement. The little surge of excitement dissipated, falling into disappointment with the knowledge that a knock at that door could mean only one person.

Anders stood on the top step, looking disheveled and irritated. His sour expression was instantly offensive, and Avery stepped aside without greeting him, sweeping her arm toward the hall in a dramatic parody of an invitation.  
"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" he snarked as he walked in.  
"What could you possibly be interrupting at 11 am on a Tuesday?" she responded flatly.  
"I don't know, you tell me. Why else would you suddenly require us all to knock before coming in, after years of saying 'my home is your home'?"  
"You know the answer to that." She closed the door behind them. "So you seem to be in a particularly good mood this morning. Did you come here for a reason, or did you just want to bitch at me?"  
Anders sighed and slumped forward, rubbing at his brow.  
"I'm sorry, no I don't mean to bitch. That wasn't a very good way to start this out, was it?" he asked sincerely as he walked through the hall and made his way to the library.  
He sank into the wooden chair across the table from where she'd been sitting and she closed her book, sliding it away. Obviously it was not going to get read today. Anders said nothing for several long moments and just stared worriedly into space.  
She quietly inspected him, noting with concern that he'd lost a bit of weight recently. His hair was greasy and he had deep circles under his eyes.  
"What's going on with you?" she asked gently. "When was the last time you've slept? Or bathed?"  
He shrugged, but said nothing. She wondered how much getting broken up with by two people had anything to do with it, though she was sure that was not at the top of the list of his worries. It might be on the list somewhere, but probably closer to the middle.  
"Talk to me," she urged softly. "Or did you come here just to brood?"  
"No… I guess I do have a little bit of news." He took a deep breath and drew his lips into a thin, downturned line. "So, as you know, now that the Knight-Commander has basically appointed herself viscount, she has nearly crushed the flame of hope for mages here," he began.  
"But she's only supposed to be acting as viscount temporarily, until someone new is elected," Avery added. "Some of them have asked me, but…"  
"Well, now that's not going to happen even if you did want it. I was chatting with… one of my contacts. From the Gallows. Meredith has just informed the Templars that there will be no new viscount until all blood mages are completely purged from the city."  
"Oh," Avery said. "Well, considering she thinks practically all mages are blood mages…"  
"Exactly. A new viscount is not going to happen. And besides, there's no way she'd give up the position to an apostate anyway, even you. She's too drunk on her power now. I think she'd be more likely to accuse you of blood magic yourself to take you out of the running." His deep brown eyes cast warily around the room as he sat slumped in the chair. "This has basically become full-on martial law that we're living under. Especially now that they're just going around and doing random searches of people's houses. Even the guard has become just an arm of the Order. I'm surprised they haven't been replaced altogether."  
Avery nodded quietly. Whatever else she might have thought, he was right to be so worried. _She_ should be more worried. She'd just gotten so distracted, and somehow putting it out of her mind seemed already like a habit. She was reminded of the metaphor about a frog letting itself get boiled alive as long as the water started out cool and only warmed up slowly.  
"And the mage underground is completely gone?"  
"Essentially," he said. "Those left have turned to blood magic as their only option. Which Meredith knows will prevent any chance of the public taking their side."  
"And none of them stopped to consider how much that proves her point? Validates all her claims?"  
Anders frowned, "Perhaps but… what else are they supposed to do?"  
"Well, how about just not _that_ ," she laughed.  
"It's not that simple…"  
"Isn't it? Just don't drain people of blood in order to enhance your own power. That's it. Seems pretty cut and dry to me. Meredith is making enough enemies on her own without mages giving the public more reason to fear them."  
His brows furrowed into a deep frown.  
"You know," he sighed, "Sometimes I think I might have made a mistake in shielding you. Maybe I should have brought you into the underground after all, so you could've seen for yourself what it was like. Your contacts and status insulate you from the reality of life for most mages here. I insulated you… wanting to protect you. But you've got it so good, sitting up here in your Hightown mansion…"  
"Um, excuse me," Avery cut in, "you weren't complaining when you were up here in my Hightown mansion. And may I remind you that I earned this. I am not going to apologize for getting my family's estate back, or because some powerful people are in my debt after I spent six years putting my ass on the line for them."  
"I know that. I'm not asking you to apologize…"  
"Then what?"  
"I… nothing. I don't know. Sorry, this is getting completely off track…. " He sighed heavily, "This is not how I wanted this conversation to go. I just wish you were capable of truly understanding… But it makes no difference. Nothing any of us do really makes any difference now that the Order has gone so far. This is where we've always been headed. The Chantry set us all on this path long ago. It would take something truly catastrophic to change people's thinking now."  
"Capable of understanding?" she asked, feeling herself prickle at the insinuation. She took a breath and calmed herself, trying to keep her voice soft. "Understanding the fear of just being alive, because of people who hate you for the way you were born? Just because I wasn't in the Circle, and just because we don't share the same view on every little point doesn't mean I don't understand that," she said gently, "I'm terrified too, same as you."  
He nodded as he picked absentmindedly at the ledge of the table. "I know, I didn't mean to imply that. I am just… Maker, this is all such a mess, and you seem to be trying to stay out of it, which isn't helping anyone."  
For a moment, he looked like the man who used to be her best friend. That man was always prone to bouts of somber contemplation and darkness, but she had always been able to pull him out of it. But there was no pulling him out of this one. There was no pulling anyone out of this one, even herself.  
"Okay. Well, yes, perhaps you're right on that count. I've been a little stuck in my own problems lately," she conceded. Problems and other things… "Do you really believe nothing we do will make any difference anyway? That doesn't sound like you."  
"Yes. I do believe that. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try…"  
"So then what should we try to do? I won't be viscount then, so fine. What else is there?"  
Anders was quiet, staring hard at the table.  
"Tell me what you think, Anders," she urged. "You must have some ideas, or you wouldn't have come, would you?"  
"Of course I would have come Avery. We're in this boat together. I still consider you my friend, and talking to you… helps me. Even when you argue with me. _Especially_ when you argue with me. I feel like I'm losing perspective a little bit lately, with Justice always so loud now and cutting in all the time, and without you always around to keep me in check. You keep both of us in check, and you calm me down."  
Avery felt herself soften even further. He was right about her trying to stay out of it.  
"Oh…well. I'm glad to hear that. I mean, I can't say I haven't missed you, even though you haven't exactly been pleasant to be around. But I understand why," she said.  
He continued to pick at the table, carving into the seam of the wood with his thumbnail. She could practically feel the massive weight of his thoughts, hanging like a black cloud in the air around him. "So tell me then, honestly. What do you think I should do?"  
He stopped fidgeting and looked up at her, finally focusing his full attention.  
"Alright. Well, for starters, be more visible," he said. "You've been laying real low. I know you have your reasons, and I know that I'm part of that, but… it's almost like you're trying to make people forget you're a mage. You've even taken to wearing commoner clothes for Maker's sake. You of all people should be out, speaking, letting people _see_ you, see that the person that already saved this city once is one of the very people they're trying to destroy. If you were locked in the Circle when the Arishok attacked, we'd all be dead or slaves to the Qun right now. Remind people of that. Represent for us." He paused and sighed, "just… try to find a balance somehow… do all that without challenging Meredith for the viscount position. If you draw her wrath any more than you already have, then I fear none of your friends will be able to save you."  
She nodded, considering his words. Did she really want to put herself out there as the voice for mages when so many mages seemed hellbent on committing such horrifying acts?  
"Well that is a tall order," she said sadly. "But honestly… if it's true that most of the free mages are resorting to blood magic, then I'm not really sure I want to speak for them. I don't represent that, and I don't want it to look like I'm condoning it. There's just… there's got to be a better way to fight for freedom than to turn into exactly what the people afraid of you are trying to prevent and contain."  
"Better ways? If you know what those are, then please, lead the way. Because the rest of us have already tried all the better ways we can think of, and they didn't work," he said. "Blood magic is simply a last resort. It'll only stop when they stop pushing us to it."  
Fenris' words came back to her, about him hiding something. She didn't really believe it could be true, but still she briefly felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck.  
"Us? Is it your last resort too?" she asked, figuring she might as well just be out with it. He cringed, casting her a hurt glare.  
"Maker, no! That's not what I meant. Even if I wanted to, Justice would not approve. I'd never hear the end of it," he cried. "And I don't want to. It pisses me right off actually, same as you. You should know that."  
"Yet you're sort of defending it?"  
"I'm not defending blood magic. I'm defending _mages_. Mages who are desperate and scared and don't know what else to do. Maker's breath Hawke," he sighed. She immediately regretted the accusation, and felt a deep ache of sympathy for him. Despite their recent nastiness, she knew this man, and knew without question that underneath it all, everything he said and did was only because he genuinely cared about the plight of his people. She sighed, wishing she could help him, even if she couldn't help everyone else.  
"Okay, okay, I believe you. I was just checking." she said gently and reached for his hand. "I'm sorry, but you've been awfully secretive lately. You just… you haven't been yourself. Some of us are worried."  
He gripped back tightly and she could feel him shaking. He didn't say anything, just looked down at her hand and squeezed.  
"So anyway. What are _you_ going to do?" she continued, "Or what are you already doing? The underground might be done, but there's no way I believe that you're just sitting around in your clinic now, waiting for this all to blow over," she asked. "I know Justice wouldn't approve of that either."  
He sighed heavily and rubbed hard at his brow again.  
"I'm still working that out. I'll let you know when I come up with something," he said.

Anders slipped out the basement door and Avery staggered back to her chair, feeling like she'd just had a giant boulder dropped on her head. Her private little reverie, her days of wandering around in a dream and thinking incessantly about Cullen, himself an accomplice to Meredith's brutality, were over at least for the moment. Anders was right, she shouldn't be sitting around with her head buried in the sand, acting like nothing that was happening concerned her personally. She was a mage, like it or not. She might be one of the last of the mages who got killed, imprisoned or made Tranquil just for being what she was, but she had no doubt that the day would come when she would no longer be safe. With her friends, her level of influence within the upper levels of the city, she had a responsibility to do what she could, or at least do _something._

When she boarded the boat to the Gallows two hours later, she wasn't sure who she was seeking out: Meredith or Cullen. She'd heeded Anders' advice and dressed in her mages' robes, with her staff secured to her back, making herself especially visible. It had been nice to be able to move through the city without all the harsh looks and negative attention, but if he was right and that sort of thing made a difference to other mages, then it was a small sacrifice to make. At the very least, perhaps she could set an example for them. Maybe fewer would be lured to desperate measures if they could see her standing strong and proud, and resisting the call of the darker arts no matter how bad things got. It would be easy enough to do until she figured out her next steps.  
The boat ride went unusually quick, with the water laying strangely smooth and glassy within the channel. And before she had even worked out exactly what she was doing there she was stepping into the expansive square of the Gallows. Her eyes immediately went to Cullen's normal spot, and there he was, his armor shining like a beacon in the dark as he talked politely to a Chantry sister. She reminded herself as she walked slowly toward him that she wasn't there for a personal visit necessarily, she just wanted information, just as she would have well before they'd ever come together that day on the ledge. If they'd never kissed, never stayed the night together on her floor in front of the fire, she'd still be taking those very steps. She'd probably have Anders with her, plus a few others… but the purpose of the visit would have been the same.

He saw her finally and his face softened, one eyebrow raising slightly before he cleared his throat and and dragged his attention back to the sister. He was bidding her a goodbye as Avery took her last steps before him, and she couldn't deny that she'd already begun to feel a bit like she was floating. All the heaviness Anders had saddled her with dissipated as the face she'd been dreaming about beamed his golden gaze down upon her, hiding the slight twinkle of a smile. She looked away quickly, trying to shake off the creeping feeling of joy at finally being near him again. She had the quiet, insistent feeling that being happy in the midst of all the chaos was completely inappropriate. Here so many were suffering such horrors and abuse and by all rights she should feel, well, the way she felt while talking to Anders. Like utter nug shit. It was only right that she share some of the burden of suffering. _Have some reverence for the situation, Avery!_

"Knight-Captain," she said politely.  
"Hello Hawke."  
"I, um, hope you are well. You still look awfully tired," she said.  
He shrugged. "That's nothing new. But I am better than I could be." He flashed a quick smile and then dropped it just as fast, resuming his business-like demeanor.  
"You look… like you're courting danger," he smirked as he ran his eyes down her robe.  
"Yes, well. That is what I do," she smiled. "On that point, I hear there have been some developments with the viscount position."  
He nodded, "you heard correct."  
"So Meredith does not intend to give up the position? Until she believes all the blood mages are gone?"  
The little glimmer in Cullen's eye faded, and he swallowed hard. It was enough of an answer.  
"Considering she sees blood mages everywhere she looks, how does anyone think this is going to turn out?" Avery asked, feeling her hackles raise. "Is there anyone here who questions her when she makes these decisions? This seems like quite the power grab, which I believe is against the the Order's tenets, is it not?"  
He gave a sad laugh. "It is. And I do. As well as few others. More and more all the time…. Actually there is… a bit about that. But I am hesitant to give you the details here…" he said quietly as he looked around.  
"Well, I believe I'll go try to have a word with Meredith myself…" she said as she gave him a nod and turned away.  
"No!" he hissed quietly. "Not today… she is… Please trust me, today is not the day for that conversation. Look… I can't say much here with so many ears around. I…" he fumbled under the skirt of his armor for a moment and then pulled his hand out. "Um, down the corridor behind you, on the left, there's a door at the end. It's a storage room. I have the key in my hand, but take it quickly. I'll meet you there in a few minutes."  
Avery nodded. All thoughts of speaking to Meredith disappeared as she felt her heart flutter at the thought of being alone with him again. She turned nonchalantly, acting as though she was just looking around, and brushed her hand back against his. She felt the hard piece of metal and grasped it, holding it tightly while trying to keep her hand loose and natural.  
"Let me know if you need anything else, Hawke," he said formally and then turned away.  
She wandered around the square for a few minutes, stopping to pretend to look at the merchant's tables again — the one who still owed her for her jewelry, but she shrugged that off. A couple extra coins wasn't really going to make a difference to her anyhow. When she finally turned toward the corridor she walked casually and confidently, acting as though she had every reason to wander back there by herself. It was dim and empty, and the path was blocked off by a wall of iron bars. Cluttering the corners were sacks and crates, and at the very end, just before the bars, she saw the door.

She shut herself into the windowless storage room and waved a light spell over the orb of her staff, bringing up a glow that illuminated the room. It too was full of sacks and crates, and after leaning her staff against the wall, she tried to slide a few of them further back, attempting to make enough room for her and Cullen to talk comfortably. She opened up a little bit of space and then sat down on a crate to wait. Her mind was a confusion of conflicting thoughts… about how the Templars were being led by a complete psychopath, about how a rebellion waged by blood mages would only soil their name further and accomplish the exact opposite of what they wanted, about Anders' words that nothing they did was really going to make a difference now. Not until something big happened, something catastrophic. If that was true, and it certainly seemed to be the case that a point of no return had already been crossed, then what was the point of speaking out or dressing in robes or doing anything at all? If everything was truly in an irreversible downward spiral that was destined to swallow them all up eventually, then wasn't it all the more important to hold on to the few moments of peace that they could find?  
Or, she could take Fenris' advice and just flee the city. Regardless of the path she chose, chances were good that the end result would remain the same.  
Or was she just making excuses not to have to officially pick a side? She'd been able to put aside the whole mess for a few days, letting herself be soothed and distracted with the new developments with Cullen. But she couldn't do that much longer.  
She sighed, letting her head fall into her hands.

When finally the handle of the door began to click open, she slid off the crate and smoothed out the skirt of her robes, her heart pounding excitedly against her chest. The door creaked open and Cullen looked around inside before he took a step in, his face quickly going pale. He lingered at the door for a moment, his eyes disconcertingly wide and black.  
"It's… it's a bit smaller than I remember," he said nervously. "This room…"  
She looked around… it was probably the size of her childhood bedroom, but the stacks of crates made it feel much tighter, filling in all the space along the walls and leaving the only gap in the dead center.  
Cullen took a deep breath and stepped in, bringing the door closed behind him but not latching it.  
"Sorry," he whispered. She noticed that his hands were shaking.  
"Cullen, are you alright?" She began to grow deeply concerned, caught completely off guard by his reaction. So much for rushing right up and kissing him, the way she had wanted to.  
She picked up one of his hands and held it, placing herself as close to him as she dared.  
"I'll be fine… I just… I have a hard time breathing in small spaces… I'll be fine," he insisted. "I swear this room wasn't this small last time I was in here…"  
"Okay, well, just focus on me and say whatever you were going to say so we can get out of here. If you don't like this then I don't like it either," she said. She rubbed at his hand, and tried to hold his gaze, keeping his attention. She turned his hand over and massaged at the thick pads of flesh on his palm and fingers, hoping it might help distract him.  
"Right… so, uh, so there's a growing uh…. Templar resistance. I'm not supposed to know about it, but many of the men are getting very nervous and…. Maker, that feels good," he panted as he looked down at the hand she held. "So, more within the ranks are, uh, getting concerned that she's seeing enemies that aren't there," he stopped again and swallowed. "She's even thrown some outlandish accusations at fellow Templars. And, there was a meeting today, this morning after she told us about the viscount… thing…"  
Without warning, he surged forward and Avery found his lips hard on hers. She was stunned for a moment, and then gratefully melted into it, dropping his hand and sliding her own around the thick softness of his neck, holding him close. She opened her mouth and let him in completely, kissing him as hard and thoroughly as she had been dreaming for the past four days. She immediately felt her desire for him rearing up, radiating out from between her legs and driving her kisses and caresses to greater urgency. His hands roamed down her back and her waist. One came up to cup her face while the other slid down to her buttock, pulling her close against his armored body. All she could actually touch of him was his face and his hands, but she found herself pressing hard against the metal anyway, desperate to get closer. She slid a leg between his and heard him groan quietly in her mouth.  
Finally he pulled his lips away, but his face hovered close, breathing heavily through parted lips.  
"That helped," he said with a small laugh. "Suddenly I feel much better."  
She laughed too, noting that it had also helped her. Helped her not to feel so overburdened and unsure. The knot of tension that had been gnawing at her gut since Anders had left was easing.  
"So a real Templar resistance to Meredith? That is surprising," she said. He nodded, and brushed the tip of his nose lightly across hers.  
"Can I come to you tonight?" he breathed. "We can talk more about it if you'd like."  
"Yes. Please, Cullen," she said and she nipped lightly as his lower lip. "Please." He claimed her mouth again for several heartbeats, his tongue penetrating her mouth deeply, tasting again of lyrium and loosing a parade of shivers up her spine. She groaned in disappointment when he pulled back too soon. He laughed again, causing her own smile to spread wider.  
"Stop at the ledge first. I'll leave a change of clothes for you there, so you'll be less conspicuous coming to my door," she whispered, gasping and desperate for more of him. He nodded and released her, reaching into the skirts of his armor again. He pulled out a small scroll and presented it to her.  
"I… I tried to recreate that letter. The first one, not the second one. It's not exact… it's still a bit shorter, but the spirit is the same," he said with a nervous half smile.  
She tucked it into the pouch on her belt and felt herself beaming as she looked up into his glinting eyes. The rare smile on his face seemed to wash away all the purple bags, all the sallowness, leaving behind only a vision of pure, golden beauty.  
"Let me leave first. Lock the door behind you and you can give me the key back tonight," he said. He turned back toward the door, and Avery rushed forward before he could open it, pressing her mouth against his a final time.  
He was visibly trying to restrain his smile when finally he slipped out the door.

She cast him a quick parting glance as she made her way out of the Gallows, and even from the distance between them his eyes seemed to glow. She waited until she was on the boat to cross the channel before she opened the letter.

 _Dearest Avery,_

 _I suppose I don't need to start out with an apology this time around, which is a relief, because the truth of the matter is that I am no longer sorry that I kissed you that day. If I hadn't made the embarrassing mistake of misinterpreting you turning toward me on the ledge, I certainly wouldn't have felt the need to write an apologetic letter about it, which I then returned for, and, well you were there for the rest so I needn't rehash it all for you. (I do remain deeply sorry about knocking you into the water however.) But the fact is that act of poor judgment led me to where I am right now. Sitting here, quill in hand, with the very recent memory of you on my lips and a real reason to look ahead to the future with a rare and unexpected bit of hopefulness. Considering what this city has become, and the hardships we individually endure, I count myself incredibly lucky to have gotten to spend a little bit of time with you before everything in Kirkwall falls apart._

 _I know you share the same concerns that I do about our particular stations and the challenges we will face, and while those are considerable and will certainly cause us great struggles in the days and weeks to come, I don't really care about them at the moment. All I care about is this that, for some reason, you have allowed me the chance to get closer to you. It might surprise you to know this, but I have been watching you for years and wishing secretly that things in our lives were different so that I might have such an opportunity. I have gone so far as to find any reason to place myself beside you anytime you visited the Gallows, which you never seemed to notice. I did this even despite the fact that my opinion of mages in general hasn't always been particularly kind or compassionate. Your strength and fortitude over the years has cut through all my prejudices and encouraged me to seek out new perspectives, and for that, I thank you. Imagine my surprise to discover that we both retreat to the same spot in the docks when we are seeking peace from the madness of our lives. I hope you don't mind my continuing to share that spot with you, as just having you there seems to lessen my own troubles. If you allow me to continue to attempt to comfort you in return, I would consider it an honor._  
 _I'll conclude this overly effusive letter by telling you that I find your beauty to be incomparable, your wit incredibly charming and I admire you and your accomplishments beyond measure. Thank you for letting me kiss you again._

 _Yours,_  
 _Cullen_


	7. Chapter 7

The next several hours passed slowly, and she continued to harbor guilt over her excitement, especially whenever Anders' words came back to her. Be visible, be a voice for mages, represent for us. It was true that she was insulated, that she probably didn't think about the plight of other mages as much as she could. She supposed it was probably easier for Anders not to get too complacent with the spirit of Justice sharing his thoughts, but so much of the mage activity she saw included blood and abominations. If only everybody could just calm down. If only fear wasn't such a potent driver, on both sides of the equation.

But it was good to hear that more Templars were questioning the things they were being ordered to do. Now if only she could find a mage equivalent: a collection of strong individuals who were willing and able to stand up to the harmful actions of their own. If such a group could be formed, then perhaps she could accomplish something. But what? Slow the rate at which they sully their own name? Prolong the inevitable clash in the streets? Was there really anything more than could be done this late in the game?

As the day dragged closer and closer to nightfall, Avery felt a cautious mixture of anxiety and excitement. She found it impossible to sit still, needing to find a way to bide the time that didn't include sitting around and fidgeting. When the sun finally began its descent she quickly ate her dinner and then had a bath filled, hoping that a long soak might help calm her nerves, and leave her ready and relaxed for Cullen's arrival. She wondered how hard it might be for him to get out of the Gallows. There was probably a good chance that something would come up, that he might be called to some unexpected duties at the last minute. He could fail to show up completely, or it might not be until very late. Late would be fine, probably good even, as then they could avoid Bodahn. She hated having to ask Bodahn to lie to her friends, and certain people, Anders specifically, would not take kindly to any indication that she was regularly consorting with the Knight-Captain of the Templar Order.

Avery was poised over the filled copper tub, her toe just about to plunge into the warm water when she froze in place. Voices? Definitely male voices in the living room, one of them most likely Bodahn, but she had no idea who the other could belong to. She noted with a frown that there was still light in the sky, so it couldn't possibly be Cullen there already. It must have been Anders, or perhaps Fenris. She was tempted to just get into the tub anyway, and make whomever had shown up wait. But the little possibility that it could be Cullen nagged at her. The murmurs of two male voices through the wall grew louder as they moved through the livingroom, and she finally decided to throw her bathrobe back on and go see who it was.

She slipped out of the washroom quietly and felt a flood of butterflies take flight as she immediately recognized Cullen's soothing voice. She was dressed in only her satin bathrobe, and for several anxious moments she considered what to do. She could dress and forget about the bath? Or… she could not forget about the bath. Surely he would offer to wait, but would it be too uncouth to simply invite him in there with her?  
Cautiously she tiptoed toward the main room and peeked around the corner. Cullen was standing in the middle of the living room surveying her recent furniture additions while making polite small talk with Bodahn. He stood tall, his back straight and strong, and was dressed in the breeches and leather coat that she'd left in a chest for him at the ledge, something she'd been considering doing for the entirety of the four days since their last visit. She hoped the chest was large enough to contain all his armor, in order to protect it from the elements and hide it from any ships that might float close enough to be attracted to its metallic gleam. She'd even thrown a blanket in there, just in case they ever had need for one.

Cullen looked both almost unrecognizable and strikingly handsome in his plainclothes, and Avery took a moment to enjoy watching him for the few minutes he didn't know she was there. The lines of the leather coat enhanced his musculature in all the right ways, accentuating his broad shoulders and chest, and narrowing perfectly just above his waist. She felt her heart begin to race as she considered all the things they might be doing with their time together. As good as he looked in plainclothes, she hoped they'd have no need of them soon. And she especially hoped that he would be able to stay all night. She lingered a few more moments, listening to him ask thoughtful questions about Sandal to Bodahn, who was providing his usual responses.

Finally she left her little perch, quietly padding barefoot across the floor toward the men. When she reached a hand out to lightly brush against his elbow he jumped in surprise, his eyes deepening immediately as they fell upon her, taking in her simple robe and bare feet.  
Avery bid a quick goodnight to Bodahn and slid her hand within the crook of Cullen's elbow, pulling him toward the washroom. Her heart was pounding against her breast, but the warmth in his eyes was encouraging.  
"I wasn't expecting you this early" she said.  
"Well, I had an opportunity, so I took it. I hope it's not an inconvenience? You look… ah... like you were indisposed?"  
"I had just had a bath filled."  
"So Bodahn said. He, uh, seems a nice enough fellow," Cullen said as he rubbed the back of his neck. His cheeks had taken on that charming pink flush again and Avery felt herself smiling brightly up at him. A slow, bashful grin spread over his face in return. "I can wait somewhere… out here, perhaps… I see you got a sofa. And I love your new, um…" he pointed above the fireplace at the painting. "the new art."  
"Thank you. This room definitely needed a change," she said, "Is waiting out here what you would prefer?"  
"What _I_ would prefer? Prefer over…?"  
"Over, maybe joining me in the washroom? Even just to talk, while I finish up. Or, whatever you want to do. It is a small room again, though I could open the window."  
He cleared his throat and the pink of his cheeks grew darker before her eyes.  
"Um… I'll let you decide," he said politely.

Her mind was racing. They both knew why he was there. It was inevitable that he would see her sometime during the night anyway, and besides she had already sat comfortably before him in her smalls on the ledge. She didn't mind him looking at her… in truth, she wanted him to look. She'd been thinking quite a lot about it in fact. But while it might be a little fun to watch him squirm as she bathed before him, she did not relish the thought of making him uncomfortable, or coming off too lewd or brash.  
Avery stopped at the liquor table and threw back a large glass of the new Antivan whiskey, offering Cullen the same. Her hands were shaking and her stomach roiling. She was as nervous as if she had never done this sort of thing before, which was far from the truth.

Several large gulps of the whiskey lit a new fire in her stomach, and she shuddered a little as the warm numbness traveled over her, loosening her muscles and her mind. She found herself standing there waiting for Cullen to finish his so that she could finally kiss him again, and wondering how she had let him get this far in without kissing him already. She watched his adam's apple bob as he gulped at the liquor, and resisted the urge to reach up and run her hand over the dark stubble of his jaw. She'd spent the day thinking about and anticipating his arrival, precipitated by the four nights of tossing and turning in bed, and now he was really there. Even as she looked at him, standing there before her very eyes, she felt like it couldn't possibly be real. And he certainly couldn't really be that unfairly handsome.

Finally he set his glass down on the table top, and she moved in slowly, raising her lips until they were only an inch or so from his. She paused, looking into his eyes and seeing his perfect lips curl into a slight half-smile. He'd frozen into place, allowing her to make her advance and Avery noted that the whiskey must be having a quick effect on him too, as his eyes already looked dark and glazed. He swept his amber gaze over her face, and then moved further down taking in the curves of her body barely hidden under her robe, and she felt his hand brush against her hip.

She leaned in to kiss him slowly, the way she had at the ledge, pausing to let their lips rest lightly against each other at first. She brought her hands up to lay upon his chest, sliding over the gentle bulges and swells that were hidden by his coat. She almost groaned when his arms came around her, laying fully along her back and pulling her flush against him. She breathed him in deeply, savoring the distinctive, lightly musky scent of his skin before finally pressing her mouth into his, taking his lips in a hard kiss. She felt it in every part of her body, the warm, sweet flood of sensation that rushed down her skin, collecting under her breasts, her thighs, her knees. If there wasn't the possibility of Bodahn or Sandal returning to the living room, she'd be tempted to pull him down to the floor right there. But she calmed herself. She wanted to savor every little moment they had.

With a few quick tugs, his jacket was off and her palms were dragging across the thin linen tunic, warming herself further against the furnace of his torso. The soft swells of muscle were tensing and coiling with his movements, his grip on her getting tighter as his mouth on hers grew more urgent. She knew she needed to pull away soon, that she couldn't let them get too carried away too fast, at least not unless she wanted to take a cold bath. She mustered up her self control and broke the kiss.  
"Maker's breath, Avery," he panted as he leaned his forehead against hers.

She picked up his hand and led him into the washroom, quickly crossing within the small room to spread the curtains of the window wide open and slide the glass up a few inches. The air that breezed into the room was cool, and she felt the hairs stand up over her body, reminding her that all she wore was a thin, silky robe.  
"There's a stool in the corner if you want to sit," she said.  
"I… uh, I'll keep my back turned if you prefer," he said and moments after she heard the wood legs of the stool scrape across the floor.  
Her throat felt dry but her body was burning. Between the anticipation of the last few hours and the scorching kiss in the other room, she scarcely knew where to begin other than to turn and throw herself right at him.

He sat himself upon the stool facing toward the wall and Avery couldn't help but notice how the thin linen tunic did little to hide the ripples of his broad back. She was instantly drawn to it, approaching him quietly to run her hands over that expanse that had both warmed her from the cold, and occupied her hands one drunken night before the fire. She pressed and rubbed, laying a light kiss on the back of his neck just as she had wanted to do so badly before. And he groaned into her touch, leaning back toward her, giving her access to the delectable skin at the base of his jaw. She brushed her lips against it, skimming the tip of her tongue up to his earlobe, thrilling at the quiet moan he let out in response. He turned his head and offered her his mouth again, which she took with great satisfaction, savoring the taste of him, the slow deliberate movements of his soft lips against hers. Her own body was practically thrumming with desire, with the need for his hands on her. She pressed his shoulders, urging him to turn around, and as he did she pulled at the belt of her robe, letting the thin satin fall open, leaving a narrow gap that revealed her nakedness beneath.

She heard a sharp intake of breath as he faced her, his eyes running slowly along the separation of the robe.  
"You are so beautiful," he breathed.  
She cupped his jaw, her fingertips bristling against his stubble and he pulled her toward him, hands running heavily up her back along the outside of her robe. Shivers rose along her skin and her nipples contracted into two points, making themselves known through the thin satin. She took one of his hands and placed it gently inside the robe, resting it on the bare skin at the crest of her hip and eliciting a low sound from him that almost could have been a growl.  
His breathing was jagged, his glazed pupils blown wide and black as his hand began to roam under the robe, caressing around her hip to the small of her back and traveling lower, sliding over her buttocks. She stepped in closer, gripping his hair gently by the roots as she watched his face. His other hand slipped under the satin covering her thigh, working it way up to her other hip and she shivered at the light touch, closing her eyes and allowing him to explore freely. Light caresses turned into heavy palms dragging across her skin, and it was all she could do not to climb him right there. But she was enjoying taking it slow, watching the desire build in his eyes as he looked at her and made deliberate, cautious advances across her body.

"Thank you for the letter," she whispered, laying a soft kiss on his forehead and nuzzling at his temple.  
He beamed a bashful grin and looked down at her navel, "It's my pleasure."  
"I really didn't have any idea that you… noticed me that much."  
"It was very hard not to," he said, his voice almost a whisper, "You have certainly commanded attention over the years."  
She laughed softly, a sound that came out surprisingly close to a giggle. "I feel like a fool for not noticing you too… perhaps we could have been doing this long ago, before mages and Templars were completely at each other's throats."  
He shook his head, "No, you wouldn't have liked me then. For many different reasons."  
"Well I like you now," she said.  
"Thank the maker for that," he smiled, looking back up into her eyes.

Avery took a moment to trace the lines of his face as he looked up at her, hands feeling hot on her bare waist. Though he was eye level with her breasts, which were still mostly draped in satin, he had yet to make a move for them. She wondered if he was just happy letting her take control or if it was some sense of gentlemanly etiquette, not to help himself to certain parts of her without direct invitation. Or perhaps he too was simply nervous. It was certainly a little different from the overeager pawing of most men, and seemed almost sweet. He'd gone years without a woman and obviously wanted her badly, yet his restraint so far had been impeccable. A weaker man would probably have already thrown her to the floor and taken her by then.

She brushed her fingertips lightly over the dark angles of his brows, and around to the bruised, tired skin that still shaded his amber eyes, across the sharp cut of his cheek bones to the delicious curve of his lips. This man was truly beautiful. How had she never noticed before? So many years and he'd always been there, but she simply never paid him any attention. It seemed unthinkable. She leaned down again for a kiss and shrugged off the robe entirely, letting herself stand completely bare before him.  
"There's not a lot of extra room in the tub, but you could try to join me if you like," she whispered over his lips.

A growl that sounded positively predatory rumbled from his throat and he was quickly on his feet, sweeping her up into another hard kiss. He gripped the roots of her hair with one hand and a buttock with the other and she writhed against him, suckling on his tongue and his lips and hearing soft groans escape her own throat. He broke away quickly to pull his tunic over his head, and in the blink of an eye it was floating to the floor and she was flush against him again, her breast and stomach pressed into the hot skin of his chest.  
"I have to confess something," he breathed over her lips. She could feel the pounding of his heart beating hard against her own. His mouth hovering so close to hers was intoxicating, and she could barely resist the pull to dive back in for more of him.  
"Go on," she whispered, moving to cup his strong, stubbled jaw. She was aching for him, from the inside out, her hips grinding with the need to get him closer, to get him as deep within her as they could manage. She took a deep breath and tried again to calm herself  
"My experience with this sort of thing is… limited," he said. "There's only ever been one… and that was so long ago now."  
"Does that concern you?" she asked him.  
"Not exactly. But I fear the first time… might be over rather quickly," he said.  
"Well, will you be here all night? Or do you have to return soon?" she asked, moving her fingers up to rake through his hair.  
"I think… I might accidentally miss the last boat back…" he said with a sly shrug. "Oops."  
She laughed, feeling joy surge through her. "Well the first time might be fast. But the second time won't be," she said through a smile as she lay a light kiss on his lower lip, "or the third time."  
"Well then. I suppose we should make use of this bath before it gets too cold. We've got a long night ahead of us."

She staggered back on shaky legs and he began removing his boots and unlacing his breeches, looking at her bare body the whole time with dark, hungry eyes. She climbed gingerly into the tub, glad to feel that the water hadn't cooled too much, and turned to watch him finish undressing. She stared at him openly now, relishing the broad chest and muscled shoulders. He had an even scattering of golden hairs running down the center of his chest and stomach which tapered to a thick strip just below his belly button. A sharp line of muscle curved inside his hipbones, leading to a considerable bulge at the apex of his thighs. When his breeches finally fell to the floor, unveiling a thick length of throbbing flesh that curved perfectly toward his body, her mouth was watering, her body ready to receive him in whatever manner he desired.

He stepped into the water behind her and lowered himself slowly, sliding his legs along either side of hers and settling against the back of the tub. His cock nestled firmly at the crest of her buttocks and she pressed back into it, hearing him let out another groan at the pressure. He sat forward and draped himself around her, laying kisses on the back of her shoulder and up her neck behind her ear.

He located the bar of soap on his own, and within a matter of seconds she felt hot, slippery hands covering the skin of her back, massaging along the deeper troughs of flesh and running down her spine. She leaned into his touch and she felt his hips buck toward her, squeezing their bodies together around his erection. Her insides were contracting, pulsating with the need for him, her whole body practically throbbing. Giving in to the urge finally, she slowly lifted herself, bringing a hand behind her to grasp onto the hard length and bracing it as she moved her body into place over it. His hands stopped and she heard a sharp intake of breath when the head of his cock met her ready entrance. She slowly lowered herself onto him, feeling herself stretch to fit the impressive girth, filling her up completely and teasing a low moan from her. His head came forward to rest on her shoulder and he gripped hard at her waist, his fingers digging into her sides.

"Don't move yet…" he whispered, his voice sounding saturated with need. "Just stay right there for a moment." She let the full weight of herself settle on his hips and then leaned back, resting against his heaving chest. His soapy hands worked under her arms and slid over her breasts, cupping and exploring, circling her nipples and then dragging down her torso. She arched her back, grinding her hips down against him, barely resisting the need to writhe, to begin sliding herself up and down the length of him. But his arms around her were firm and solid, holding her securely into place.  
"Show me how to please you Avery," he whispered into her ear. One of his hands continued its trek downward into the water and she slid her hand over it, guiding him to the little pearl of nerves that was nestled within her aching folds. She used his fingers as she would her own, pressing down and moving in tight circular motions, letting him learn the rhythms she preferred.

Her body's reaction was quick, immediately building up a sweet wave of pleasure and once again she found herself needing to move, clenching and grinding around him, wanting to buck her hips in time with his fingers. He held her close with the other arm, his chin resting on her shoulder as he looked down her body. She squirmed against him almost involuntarily, trying to slide herself up slightly so she could come back down, and feel the impact of their rejoining, but he only tightened his hold on her.  
"No, don't. If you do that, it won't take long for me. I want you to come first," he whispered. "Please. Come for me Avery."

She nodded, surrendering to his instruction and settling herself back against him again. She kept her hand on his, adjusting the pressure and location when needed, feeling the unbearable wave of sensation continue to build, filling her body with the aching need for release. She directed his other hand to her breast and he squeezed her nipples, sending a peal of pleasure down her that connected directly to the motion of his fingers. She arched her back more as the tension built higher, the ecstasy teasing her into a tightly contained frenzy. She squeezed against his cock, her insides contracting with imminent climax and she noticed that his breathing had grown heavy, whimpers and grunts sounding low in his throat. She threw her head back, needing his lips, needing his tongue and his mouth on her immediately and at the slight turn of her head she found them, waiting and welcoming her kiss, devouring her lips hungrily.

The crest of orgasm came like a flood, drowning her in a sea of sensation so sweet, so perfect and intense that she felt herself begin to quake, her body spasming its pleasure around the anchor of his cock. Finally he arched up into her, his hips bucking forward with such strength that they were both lifted off the floor of the tub. He loosed a deep, primal growl as his body tensed and she opened her eyes briefly to see his toes curling. The feeling of him filling her and pressing hard against her aching depths, his fingers still working against her clitoris, the sounds coming from his throat, and his arms surrounding her, swallowing her, his mouth, searching, consuming, biting, all combined to catapult her into a new stratosphere of sustained ecstasy. Another orgasm followed immediately on the heels of the first and she heard sounds coming from her throat that she barely recognized. She was crying, moaning, straining to contain the singing chorus of sensations that were exploding under her skin.

When it was done, she collapsed back against him, body pulsing as she gasped for breath. Her neck was damp with sweat despite the further cooling of the water. He tucked her tightly against his chest and and nuzzled his nose down into her neck, groaning contentedly and laying soft kisses behind her ear.  
"Sorry, I couldn't stop myself," he crooned.  
"Please, Cullen, you do not need to apologize," she said, laughing softly.  
"That was… wow," he whispered.  
She turned around in the tub so that they were face to face and wrapped her legs around him. After locating the soap again, she worked up a lather and let her hands wander and explore, sliding over the firm planes of his chest and shoulders. He relaxed into her touch, closing his eyes and groaning each time she kneaded into knots of tensed muscle. When he was fully covered he opened his eyes and returned the favor, pulling all the tension from her limbs as he dragged warm, soapy hands down her skin, exploring every inch of her within reach.. By the time the water was cold and they'd rinsed all the suds off, he was visibly excited again.  
They wrapped themselves in towels and made their way to the bedroom, with Cullen stopping halfway there to pick her up effortlessly and carry her through the door to her room.

The journey to the bed disappeared into a flurry of kisses. Finally he set her down and she could do nothing more than throw off their towels and pull him onto her, wrapping herself around him, snaking her legs around his hips and locking him into place until he gave into her need to be fully rejoined. When the welcome weight of him pressed completely down upon her, crushing her gratefully into the bed, awareness of everything not Cullen completely faded into nothingness. She plunged into a blissful oblivion made up of his hands, his eyes, his mouth, the salt in his sweat, the graceful curve of his flesh against her, undulating like a boat on a stormy sea, surrounding her completely and inundating every pore. The sensation of being filled by him again came almost immediately as he entered her without guidance, pushing a gasp from her lungs as he began slowly driving deep against an exquisite aching within her. The air filled with rising moans and cries but she knew not to whom they belonged. It could have been her, surrendered and abandoned as thoroughly as she was to his thrusting golden skin, but she had no awareness of trying to use her voice. Only of giving over to him completely, of trying to find a balance between splaying wide open and holding him as hard as her heart demanded.

The movement of their bodies together was like a dance, keeping time with some internal music, the melody swelling and building toward a blinding, blistering, devastating crescendo. He was hard and soft, tender and strong, desperate and restrained and she opened herself utterly, needing to contain as much of him as she could manage, obeying the primal call to merge cell to cell. Her mind, her soul felt completely unmade by the searing kiss at her throat, by the strong hands cupping her head with a painful tenderness, by the brown eyes that opened and pulled her in, holding her as tightly as his arms. He smoothed her hair back and suckled at her lips and she was pushed over the edge again, the crescendo reaching another soaring zenith, waves of ecstasy carrying her away from the world on a current of fire, urging her into a powerful, shuddering release.

She was descending back into his arms when his groans turned to whimpers and his body tightened around her. The sound of him in her ears, his satiny voice usually so strong and calm but now so undone and desperate, sent overwhelming waves of need through her. A need to fill him, to know him completely, to offer to him all the contents of her very self. She merged her mouth with his again and felt incorporeal under the trembling force of his orgasm. She sank ecstatically back into the bed, feeling utterly and blissfully possessed, consumed and obliterated.


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you asleep?"

Avery opened her eyes in response, gazing dreamily up at Cullen.

"There's no way I could sleep through you touching me like that," she said, smiling tiredly. "And I wouldn't want to."

She'd been enjoying lying right up against him, one of his legs resting tight between hers, the heat from his chest and neck radiating over her. He was on his side, head propped up on one arm as he lightly traced his finger up and down her ribs, between each breast, up to the hollow of her neck and collarbones, circling each nipple until they contracted. He'd teased goosebumps out of her skin more times than she could count, and after closing her eyes and relaxing down into the bed, she'd simply been trying to savor every second of it.

"You know, I don't think I have ever seen anything in my life more exquisite than you during an orgasm," he said.

"I could say the same. I've certainly never heard anything better," she laughed softly. The one possible exception being Fenris, though he was so much more restrained and controlled, while the whimpering that had come from Cullen sounded like he truly couldn't help himself, like he was completely overcome. That alone had practically pushed her over the edge.

"Do you want to sleep? I can leave you be if you're tired." The bedroom fire had died down to glowing embers and Cullen's face was washed in a warm, orange light. His lips were pink and puffy from overuse, accentuating the cupid's bow curve where they joined. Her own mouth felt slightly raw, but still she could have continued kissing him deep into the night anyway. She reached a hand up to caress his cheek and he nuzzled against her hand for a moment.

"I am tired… but I don't think I've had enough of you yet," she crooned, "Do you want to sleep? I can help with that again, if you'd like."

He shook his head, his eyes glowing with warmth. "I think that, at least for tonight, I might be able to sleep without need of a spell."

His fingers resumed their light searching of her body, sliding under the crease of her breasts and then wandering back up toward the nipple.

"So you haven't had enough yet? What would you like me to do to you now dear Avery?" he asked with a wicked little half smile. His fingers trailed back down toward her navel, sending shivers rippling outward from his touch, stifling her answer before it passed her lips. She closed her eyes and arched her back slightly. The bed shifted as he bent down to take a hard nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around and over the firm tip and sucking what flesh he could into his mouth. When his trailing fingers reached the sheet covering her hips he quickly cast it away, flinging it down to her knees. His gentle touch found the lips of her sex and teased up and down the crease, rekindling a hungry fire between her legs. She mewled quietly, trying to buck up toward his hand to increase the contact, but he pulled back just enough that his touch remained feathery light and torturous. The wicked grin across his kiss-reddened lips spread wider, his eyes sparking with deep flashes of satisfaction.

"So you like watching me, do you?" she asked through waves of shivers. He only nodded quietly while his smile continue to bloom. Against her thigh, he'd begun to grow hard again and she reached for him, gripping the thick shaft and caressing lightly over the swelling head. He closed his eyes and let out a little groan, his hips grinding toward her in response.

He had been so generous with her already, making such an effort to pleasure her before himself, that she felt herself overcome with the desire to return the favor. She pushed him onto his back and he groaned again as she pulled her body away from his exploring hands, then kicked the sheets completely away and brought herself down so that she was level with his erection. A shiny bulb of fluid perched on the head and the thick shaft bobbed slightly with his heartbeat. She breathed deeply at his nest of golden curls, which was aromatic with the musk of aroused male, and the heady scent traveled deliriously through her to a place deep and primal. She pressed her mouth onto his cock, running her lips and tongue from the base to the head before taking the whole thing in her mouth. The sound he emitted as she took him all the way in to the back of her throat sent a peal of arousal directly to the singing bundle of nerves between her legs. It was yet another desperate and uncontrolled whimper, his voice sultry and sweet, and it only drove her to pull back and plunge him in again, swirling her tongue against the smooth flesh and suckling at the tip. His hips bucked slightly and his hands found her hair, fingers tangling into her sweat dampened locks. Each time she took him in he gasped, but as much as she was enjoying the sounds, the purpose of her mouth had only truly been to lubricate him. She gave him a few more strokes, leaving behind a coating of saliva and then pulled herself up, throwing a leg over him and positioning herself on top.

She watched his face register the sensation of his purpled head pressing up against her, sliding the length of him up and down her slick entrance, pausing to stimulate her throbbing pearl. His eyes were dark, glued in fascination to the movement of her body against him. When finally she directed him into her and eased herself down around him, his lids fluttered slightly, eyes almost rolling back into his head. If he enjoyed watching her, she intended to give him plenty to see, knowing she too would enjoy watching him react to her.

His hands clutched her hips, his muscled chest flexing and tensing as he steadied her, guiding her building movements. She threw her head back, feeling lost momentarily to the powerful feeling of fullness, to the thickness of him pressing at the boundaries of her body, the aching center deep within being stroked with every movement. He bucked up into her, his hand reaching up and dragging heavily from the base of her neck down between her breasts, leaving a stinging trail of dissipating heat on her skin. When she met his eyes again they were fierce and focused, taking in every inch of her with an intensity she could practically feel. His eyes flicked up and locked onto hers, his brows drawn in an anguished expression of need and she increased her pace, feeling the sweet, electric tension within her quickening. One of his hands slid off her hip and came around to rest on her stomach just below her navel, the tip of his thumb bumping against the base of her, gingerly finding its way between their bodies to her clitoris.

She moaned softly and positioned the thumb for him, holding it into place as she wriggled against it and felt it begin to work, adding to the fire already propelling her body. She lingered there, grinding down and letting her own pleasure build, contracting against him, luxuriating in the sweet pool of sensation. She threw her head back again and let the euphoric delirium wash completely over her. Following the urging of her body, she rolled and writhed over him, letting her fingers rake down his chest and coming up to pinch her own nipple, squeezing until just reaching the point of pain.

Without warning he surged forward, sitting upright and grasping at her buttock with his free hand, rocking his hips in time with hers and nipping at the line of her jaw.

"Yes, Avery…" he breathed, gasping and groaning. "Yes…" He released her buttock and clawed up to her breast rolling her nipple briefly between two fingers, and then wrapping hot and firm around her neck, pulling her mouth into his and penetrating deeply with his tongue. The cries that came from her throat were almost animalistic as the towering wave of climax crashed over her, catching her almost entirely off guard, spurred on by his probing thumb and rocking hips. "Yes baby, come for me again…" he panted. She arched and clutched at him, pulling at the roots of his hair while she rolled her hips and kissed him so hard her lips hurt. "Cullen…" she whimpered, opening her eyes for a second to see his, glassy and sparking, his sinewy arms bracing himself against her, when abruptly she was swallowed up in sensation again, crying desperate wails of release into his mouth as agonizing pleasure seized her body, traveling up her nerves and exploding in a devastating blaze between her legs.

In a whirlwind of fluid motion he had her in his arms and thrown back onto the bed, dropping between her legs and driving his cock deep again, buried to the hilt in a single swift thrust. Sweaty hands clamped over her hips and dragged down her chest, and they were rocking together again, the wooden frame of the bed creaking in time with the effort. She surrendered herself completely, eagerly welcoming his tenacious blows, striking hard at the rapturous gulf within her. His eyes were still trained sharply, glazed with his own imminent climax, the orange light of the fire turning his amber iris to flame.

Sensing he was close, she moved her hand to her sex and teased herself to the edge of another orgasm, the intense pounding urging her to the edge of oblivion again. She caught a glimpse of his dark eyes before she arched into it, letting it rain shockwaves of pleasure down upon her and he was immediately joining her, tensing up and plunging deeply again in a long, swift stroke. He cried out, his voice like music, and pressed all his weight into his hips as his cock throbbed and emptied.

She lay in still recovery for several heartbeats, feeling him soften within her. Silky, slightly swollen lips descended onto hers, kissing her tenderly. His kisses traveled down to her neck, lingering on the base of her throat as he separated himself, shifting his hips to settle into her arms and moving down to rest his head above her breast.

"I'm just going to sleep right here if that's okay," he whispered. She nodded, wrapping her arms around him and turning her body slightly so that she could cradle his head in the nook of her shoulder. She settled her body against him, entwining legs and resting her cheek against his head, breathing into the dampened waves of his hair.

After a deep inhalation, he turned his head to look up at her, his lips curling into a sly smile.

"You are quite the vixen."

"And you are quite the beast," she smiled in return.

"I hope that's okay. I was trying not to get too rough… but you certainly didn't seem to mind."

"I loved it. Please, ravage me like that anytime you'd like."

"Be careful what you offer." His smile spread. "You have awakened an appetite in me that I wasn't aware existed. It has already severely tested my restraint."

She laughed softly. "Is that so? Your restraint has been pretty impressive so far."

"Oh darling, if you only knew," he laughed.

"Really? Well please don't hold back on my account." She kissed his forehead, "I like it when you're rough. I like it when you're gentle." She kissed his temple, "I like it when you take control." She kissed his brow, "I like it when you let me lead." She kissed the tip of his nose. "I like it all, as long as it means that I get to look at you," She nipped his ear. "And taste you," she kissed the angle of his cheek, "and hear your voice."

He groaned some more and rose up to take her lips with his again.

"I am a lucky man," he whispered as he settled back down into her arms.

It didn't take long before his breathing steadied and deepened, signaling his descent into sleep. She clutched him close, keeping alert for the emergence of nightmares and hoping that if they came she'd be able to soothe him somehow before they wrenched him fully awake. She ran her fingers through his hair, pressed her lips to his temple, breathed him in, held him close, did every single one of the things she dreamed about doing those long nights alone in bed.

But even as she did so, her mind began to race, keeping her from sleep despite how her body was so utterly spent. She realized she'd gone nearly the whole night without thinking about the fact of who they were, two people on opposite sides of a imminent war. The same old concerns but it seemed so dangerous to let them stay cast aside. But there'd been nothing within their time together that reminded her that he was a Templar, and with no need of her magic surely he'd simply forgotten that she was a mage. Yet the emotions that had been stirred up in her were real, even though they would have to stay hidden, their time together stolen and hoarded into secret pockets of their lives. It would be easier if they could keep it to just sex, but they were both already far beyond that. Laying there with him resting warm and heavy in her arms, she realized that her wanting of him had only grown deeper every time they'd come together, even as she had no idea how they were going to make it work. What would happen if whatever it was they were doing were to turn into love? Should such a thing even be allowed to happen, or would that be stupidly courting more heartbreak?

But love or no, she'd already be heartbroken if one of them had to break things off. If only her own restraint had been better. Not so long ago she was seeking solitude, reprimanding herself over how deeply she was affected by the unexpected twists and turns of her love life, and yet here she was, stuck again in a doomed love affair. She just couldn't seem to fully extricate herself from questionable romantic entanglements, whether or not they came at her own urging. But surely it was fate, or the Maker, or something else that threw her and Cullen together. How could she have known she'd meet Cullen at the ledge? That they'd find themselves soaked and stuck together trying to dry out, that he'd show up at her door needing a place to stay? She'd had no hand in those events, but it still probably would have been smarter if she'd gone about things differently. Cullen could be the one to blame. He had kissed her first, he had written her the letter and he had shown up at her door. She'd simply been vulnerable; lovesick and rejected. And somehow, unexpectedly, he had bewitched her, as surely as if he had magic in him himself.

Still, despite her concerns, it made her incredibly sad to imagine a reality in which she wasn't thinking the things she was, feeling the things she was about Cullen. She couldn't deny that there was something very special in his touch, and that when he kissed her she felt the world fall away. That when they'd made love after the bath she felt it in the depths of her soul. She wanted to give so much to him. Wanted to be there for him.

Perhaps the turmoil in Kirkwall was a blessing in disguise. If the city, and hence its people, were all already doomed, then what difference did it make if she and Cullen were too?

Her last thought before her mind finally quieted and gave in to sleep, was that she'd completely forgotten to ask Cullen about the Templar resistance he had mentioned in the storage room.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Another four days. The worst part about their stations was the physical distance. Cullen couldn't just stop by anytime he had a free minute, and he certainly wasn't free to stay the night whenever they wanted. She really had no idea if he even had regularly scheduled free time. With a watery channel and a 30 minute boat ride separating him from Kirkwall, they rarely ran into each other and couldn't communicate easily. She supposed she could send him letters, but didn't want to do so until she knew that there was no way it would cause a problem. Would her letter get opened by someone besides him? Should she use an alias, write in code, not leave a return address? Would any of that matter at all?

Perhaps she'd start leaving letters in the box at the ledge. Perhaps soon she might run into him at the ledge.

She'd been trying to stay busy, visiting friends and looking for work. There was a drunken night of Diamondback with Varric and Fenris, in which Fenris walked her home and then looked as though he wanted to kiss her. She turned away quickly and slipped through her door, bidding a rushed goodbye over her shoulder. And then spent the rest of the night once again wondering what would happen with Cullen. She had no desire whatsoever to try to juggle two men at once again, and it was Cullen who fully occupied her mind anyhow. But if things had been a little different, if Cullen had remained just another Templar to her, she might have welcomed yet another advance by Fenris, as foolish as that might have been. She might even have been downright thrilled about it. But nothing had happened and the next day he acted perfectly normal, to her great relief.

She'd not seen Anders since he last came to the basement door, looking unkempt and distressed, and she decided to pay him a visit. At the very least see how he looked, if he was eating, if he was taking care of himself. She dressed in her warmest mage robes and walked slowly across the city, taking the longest routes, enjoying the sunshine on her face and the cool breeze against her cheeks.

When she walked into his clinic, Fenris was milling about near the door and Avery raised a curious eyebrow. His cheeks blushed red and he nodded a quick greeting. She wasn't particularly surprised. The force of their attraction had come as strong as their initial repulsion. It seemed likely they'd swing from one extreme to another for a little while, bouncing from hate to infatuation, back to hate, back to infatuation and so on. That was often the way of extremes. Or perhaps Fenris was just lonely. After the look he'd given her on her stoop several nights back, she felt an ache of compassion for him. Of course he'd be lonely, even if he was loathe to admit it. He had no one besides them. Avery realized she should really probably try to make an effort to see him more often. Maybe the more time they spent together as friends, the easier it would be to put their romantic past completely behind them.

She approached Anders finally, noticing immediately that he looked good. He was clean, well put together and calm. Not bouncing around, jittering and staring into space. She was relieved to see it.

"I'm going to be trying something, and I thought you'd want to be a part of it," he began. "We've both been wrong. What I did with Justice was unnatural. It should never have happened."

Avery was speechless for a moment, not sure where this could possibly be going.

"Okay…" she began, seating herself his table that was littered with old tomes. She eyed the mountains of melted candle wax and realized that he clearly had been spending many very long nights at the table. "So, is there some way to undo it?"

"I've spent the past three years researching the methods of the Tevinter magisters, since they're the only ones who have ever sought to reverse spirit possession, not just behead the victims," he said. He took a sip from a cup of tea and sat back in his chair.

"Why am I not surprised?" Fenris grumbled from across the room. Anders rolled his eyes and took a moment to clamp his mouth shut, clearly suppressing whatever knee-jerk comeback had been on the tip of his tongue. He must have been trying harder to get along with Fenris.

Avery was pleased to see him looking so well. Perhaps whatever he'd found had been good for him, given him some hope, or at least distracted him from the disaster that was life in Kirkwall.

"I believe I have a formula for a potion that can separate Justice and me. Without killing either," he continued.

"That's… that's fantastic!" she said. "But, are you sure? I mean, you'd think that if such a thing existed mages would have heard of it by now," she said. " Is it dangerous?"

"You'd think. But the vints are awfully stingy with their secrets. I suppose they'd be afraid that sharing everything they knew with any old mage would jeopardize their standing or something. But there are always dangers with magic. And I believe this will be worth the cost," he said confidently. She nodded. Anders was nothing if not thorough in his research. Even though he'd spent most of his time in the circle trying to escape, he had taken many of the studies seriously, and remained one of the most learned mages she'd known.

"Okay, so how can I help?" she asked.

"I knew you'd stand behind me in this. Even if…"

"What?" she asked, noting a flicker of hesitation in his eye. He looked down for a moment, biting his lip.

"Nothing."

"Seriously, Anders, what?"

"No, it's really nothing. Not a big deal. Anyway, I've gathered most of what I need, but there are some… outlandish ingredients I was hoping you'd help me collect. A powder the Tevinters call 'sela petrae,' and a small amount of drakestone."

She sighed. "Damnit, drakestone means the bone pit doesn't? I hate that place."

"I know, I do too, but I'm pretty sure I know exactly where to find it, so hopefully we should be in and out. Plus it'll seem like a field day compared to the other stuff. It's basically crystallized poo."

"Ew!" she cringed.

"I know, but there's some sort of chemical reaction that makes it useful. I am really sorry, I know this is probably the last thing you want to do."

"I would only ever do this for you Anders," she sighed. "When would you like to go?"

"Well, whenever you have the time. The sooner the better, though it's fine if you can't do it right away. I'm just a little anxious to get started on this... potion."

"Sooooo…. Now?"

"If you have the time?" he asked.

"I do, but… ugh, if I'm going to be traipsing off to the bone pit and collecting crystallized poo I think I need a drink or two," she sighed. "Lets hit up the Hanged Man for a pint first. Maybe I can get my nose drunk enough to handle the stench of the sewers."

The Hanged Man was unusually crowded for the middle of day. When Hawke mentioned it to the barkeep he went on a long rant about how now that people were no longer safe in their homes, more and more of them were flocking to the Hanged Man, eager for escape. Business has increased, he'd said, filling his till with more coin than he could ever remember seeing, but the damage to the place had increased as well, and he'd had to hire a few sellswords just to act as security when things got out of control.

There were no free tables so Anders, Fenris and Avery stood in the middle of the room as they drank down their pints. When Avery when done with her first, she went immediately for a refill, gulping down the entirety of the tepid liquid before even stepping away from the bar.

"Alright. To the sewers! Lets go step in some shit!" she declared as she led Fenris and Anders back into the street. They'd have to make their way back to Darktown to find the sewer entrance, and when they passed the stairwell down to the Docks her eye was caught by the shine of metal in the sun. Templars.

Without saying anything she diverted course, turning to descend the stairs toward the glinting metallic bodies. They were gathered just at the entrance to the former Qunari compound, the doors broken open, with clusters of bodies surveying the interior. From a distance, she spied Cullen, and ignoring the warnings of the Templars stationed at the door she walked right in, making a beeline for the Knight-Captain.

"Fancy new digs," she said as she sidled up beside him. He glanced at her out the corner of his eye and gave a quick nod, then finished the instruction he was giving the to the younger man before him. "I'm thinking put in a pool, maybe a sauna. That corner over there is just begging for a ridiculously oversized fountain. Preferably something with lots of boobs," she continued as the boy scampered back to his duties. "Everyone loves looking at naked ladies, don't they?" she asked Cullen with a knowing smirk.

"Hello Hawke," he said with the slightest hint of a smile. He turned casually to look at Anders and Fenris as they caught up with her. Anders' carried an expression of obvious distaste, glaring at the crowd of Templars, while Fenris kept his usual mask of placidity.

"Sooo…. Really though, what are you doing?" she asked finally, doing a quick circle to note that many of the Templars seemed to be taking measurements and making plans to dispose of debris.

"Well you weren't too far off. Meredith decided it was time to clean up this space and put it to some use," he said simply, his tone remaining clipped and business-like.

"Put to use how?"

"A Templar base, here in Kirkwall proper. It has proved to be a bit of an inconvenience to keep the regiment so separate from the city now that we've taken a much more active role."

"You mean now that you've seized so much control?" Avery asked as she continued to inspect the space. The spot where the Arishok once sat had been cleared completely already, and most of the space was kept surprisingly tidy. Aside from a few areas of crumbling rock, and a pile or two of refuse, there didn't seem to be much in the way of repairs needed. She turned back to Cullen, resisting the urge to step closer to him. "You want to be able to keep a closer eye on your subjects, keep people in line, is that it?"

Cullen's eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone remained steady.

"It would make responding to grave threats a bit easier. Enable us to better protect the people," he said. He turned away to cast a watchful eye on a group of nearby Templars who seemed to be arguing amongst themselves.

"You mean better able to intrude into people's homes? Stop people on the street who are just minding their own business?" Anders interjected. "Arrest and detain innocent people and separate families?"

Cullen looked sharply at him, eying him from top to bottom. Anders only stared back, his expression practically an open challenge.

"We do regret that it has come to that. If the blood mage threat hadn't grown so great, none of this would be necessary," he said calmly, completely unperturbed by the accusation.

"So a base here in the Docks? Who will be heading this up? Will it be you, Knight-Captain?" she asked, trying her best to mirror his calm.

"It does appear that way." He turned to bark a quick reprimand to another recruit and came back to face her, his eyes boring deeply into her for a moment.

"Great. Meredith's attack dog, come to roost here in the Docks" Anders snarled.

Cullen raised an eyebrow and turned back to to face Anders again.

"So am I a dog then, or a rooster? Can't be both."

Anders grumbled something under his breath and Avery realized then what a ripe situation they were in for luring out Justice. That would be a development that could only end in disaster. She sighed, casting a quick look back at Cullen.

"Gentlemen," he said with a polite nod, seeming to understand her expression. "Hawke. Do try not to harass my men on your way out."

She walked out of the former Qunari compound trying to prevent the grin from spreading across her cheeks. Having a Templar base so close was not a good development at all. Having Cullen close was an entirely different story. Despite the fact that Templars continued to strike up an automatic nervousness in her, a habit born of a lifetime of fear, she still relished seeing him there in full armor, striding confidently among his men, utterly in command. It only made her envision the flesh that moved beneath the imposing armor, especially now that she knew so intimately how it looked, how it felt.

They passed through the Docks, seeing that Anders was leading them to a different entrance of the sewers instead of the one via Darktown. She fell into step behind him, losing herself once again to memories and daydreams. She wished, briefly, that she'd been able to concoct some sort of excuse to hang around a little longer, watch the Knight-Captain at work, but with Anders and Fenris present that simply couldn't happen.

"I think someone's sweet on you," Anders said eventually.

"Huh?"

"The Knight-Captain. You should have seen the way he was looking at you when you weren't paying attention," he continued.

"He's always looked at her that way. I noticed it long ago," Fenris added.

"Still, there's our 'in', right there." Anders said, all hostility replaced with an audible amusement.

"What are you talking about?" Avery asked, feigning incredulity.

"You seduce him and get him to tell you all the deep, dark Templar secrets. We'll use them all to bring down the Order and then you can out him as a mage lover and destroy his credibility in front of his peers," he said, almost laughing. "He'd be a laughingstock, and Meredith would be livid. He'd get hanged for sure."

"Hanged? That seems awfully extreme…" Avery said, a chill running down her back.

"Where have you been Hawke? Meredith _is_ extreme. She's hanged many more people for less, and very recently," he continued. "I'm surprised there aren't piles of bodies stacked up in the Gallows."

Avery frowned, her heart suddenly lodged in her throat.

"Well, that's all out of the question anyway. It's too cruel," she said, not even trying to hide her distaste at the idea.

"War is cruel sweetheart. And that's what this is, make no mistake about that. We've got to use all the tools at our disposal if we're going to win."

She walked quietly for several more steps, her mood suddenly plunged into a thick, sticky darkness.

"Besides, it's not as if they haven't been cruel to generations worth of mages. They've got a bit of that coming."

She stared hard at the ground as she walked, unable to separate out the rush of guilty, frightened thoughts that sent her blood roaring in her ears.

"Anyway, here's the entrance to the sewers. I hope you're not wearing your good boots." Anders said as he lifted the cover and waved them inside.


	9. Chapter 9

Avery stood alone at the end of the corridor, watching the Templars haul crates of supplies into the old Qunari compound. She was hoping to catch sight of Cullen, hoping seeing him might help with… something. Help straighten out the storm of fears that had been raging inside her head since the day before. If only Anders had kept his damn mouth shut. Of course she knew that their affair being exposed would cause problems, but could it really be as bad as he'd said? Could it really, possibly threaten his very life? Anders had completely destroyed the little private nirvana she'd been living in, but he'd made her wonder if she shouldn't just break everything off altogether for Cullen's safety, a thought that her heart railed vehemently against. But if anything happened to him simply because he was with her… that was too horrifying even to think about.

The Templars were well organized and from her perch she could see tents being raised and tables being built. Dozens of people were stopped to watch the proceedings, muttering under their breath while shaking their heads. Avery had decided against the mage's robes before she left, wanting to blend into the crowd, hoping it would allow her to observe the Templars in peace for a while before she was recognized. Perhaps she'd get lucky and not be recognized at all. But she'd been standing there for an hour and hadn't had a single glimpse of Cullen.

She sighed. Cullen was a grown man, he could make his own decisions. Surely he knew better than Anders what kind of danger he might be in by consorting with her. If Cullen had decided that the risk was worth it to him, why should she let Anders' assumptions cast such a pall over her happiness? And this coming right when Cullen might actually be a little bit more accessible. For a mere half hour the day before she'd been flooded with a euphoria of new possibilities, and Anders had ruined it with his big, stupid mouth.

The ledge was close, but not too close, just three blocks away. If this became Cullen's new station he wouldn't have to go far to meet her. They might be able arrange rendezvous and he might even be able to slip away at night, a thought that sent excited chills through her. But her concern about them being caught had become a vise at her temples, squeezing just hard enough that she could never completely block it out. If Anders had already noticed Cullen looking at her, then it was possible that it was only a matter of time before anyone else did as well. Perhaps the answer was simply not to speak in public at all. Perhaps the answer was for there not to be anything there for them to suspect, even if the result was finding herself right back where she had started: wounded and lamenting another lost love.

"What, you weren't even going to come up and say hello?" It was his voice. So much for not being seen.

She turned to look at him, feeling something within herself react viscerally. The strong brow and nectarous lips, the straight back and amber eyes, flooded her immediately with some intoxicating hormonal concoction. It felt like adrenaline mixed with a dozen shots of whiskey, suddenly surging through her veins and making her feel unsteady, delirious and shaky. She looked away and threw her shoulders back, trying to maintain her composure.

"Knight-Captain," she said, her tone much icier than she intended. "You came out of nowhere."

"I was visiting a certain hidden waterfront location, hoping that I might be lucky enough to catch a few moments with a certain beautiful vixen," he said quietly, eying the cluster of people gathered nearby. "But, alas, the place was empty. And now I am at the end of my quick reprieve and must return to my duties."

"That is unfortunate… for both of us," she said wistfully. She was making a point to stare straight ahead and look, if anything, at least slightly annoyed to be talking to him. It wouldn't do to display any hint of how she was actually feeling. "Might this always be the time of day that you can escape for a few minutes? Just, you know, for future reference?"

"That I couldn't tell you for certain… but perhaps tomorrow..."

She nodded, "duly noted."

"Would you like to come take a look inside the compound? It's not terribly impressive, but it should be fully functional by this evening." He gestured for her to go first and she took a few steps and then paused.

"Are you sure it's wise for me to make a habit of being seen here?" she asked quietly, looking around for any sign of someone listening in.

"It would be strange for you not to. The Champion of Kirkwall takes an interest in these types of changes to her city, does she not?"

Yes, she supposed he was right. She gave another quick nod and then made her way around a cluster of people, walking slowly toward the compound. They took several steps in silence when he leaned in slightly, his voice but a hushed rasp.

"I am absolutely aching to touch you again."

She cast him a quick glance to see him staring straight ahead, face showing no indication of what he'd just said. They were stepping around gawkers, people mostly immersed in their own conversations. One man was decidedly unhappy about the "Templar invasion" another man welcomed it, deriding the "Mage menace". None of them were even looking their direction.

"Well I can't wait to tear that armor off you. As well as everything underneath it," she responded, navigating through the spotty crowd without getting close enough for anyone else to hear.

"I want to taste every inch of your body," he continued quietly, "Preferably as soon as possible."

A hot blush crept up to her cheeks as her body responded to the images his words conjured.

"If we weren't walking toward an army of Templars, I would strip naked for you right this second."

He cleared his throat and gave a curt nod to the Templars several meters ahead who were guarding the door. Many of the men noticeably straightened up as they saw him approach. When they finally reached the entrance Cullen stopped and stood aside, letting her walk through first.

"You've nothing to be concerned about, Hawke. The base will only house a barebones crew of Templars, including myself, unless the need for more arises," he said, raising the volume of his voice back to a normal level. "If you have any ideas on how to increase the security of the area without adding to our forces please feel free to consult with me directly."

He walked her around the compound which already sported an expansive wooden canopy and a row of thick canvas tents.

"Well you didn't go with my pool idea. Or the fountain. Clearly you don't take my recommendations very seriously."

He snorted, "yes, well, it turns out the excavation for a pool would have taken weeks."

She almost smiled, but pressed it down. Maker, she certainly had a knack for doing all the wrong things. Immediately after having her head filled with serious concerns about getting Cullen caught and here she was, tempting fate.

"As you can see, there are no holding cells or armory," he continued in his business-like manner. "Hopefully that might put your mind at ease that this is anything other than an outpost. We simply intend to increase our presence in the hopes of deterring unnecessary conflict."

She nodded while trying to keep her face stern, and made a point of looking many of the other Templars in the eye.

When it was finished he escorted her back to the entrance and flashed her a quick glance, his eyes deepening briefly with a look that made her ache to reach out and touch him. Instead she wrenched her eyes away and bid him a brief, cold goodbye.

The next day she sat on the bench, eyes blurring over the crystalline water and her lids still heavy from the lack of sleep the previous night. She'd lain in bed from sundown to sunup, mind occupied by warring thoughts that wouldn't settle. One moment she was envisioning Cullen on top of her, filling her up and holding her close. And the next moment she was thinking about the Gallows. Had there truly been a lot of hangings there lately? There were some, that she knew, but there wasn't exactly a press release every time they broke out the nooses. There was no way to know for sure how many happened on a regular basis, and it did seem like something Anders might exaggerate. The more she thought about it, the more confused she became.

She'd come to the ledge early, unsure how long exactly Cullen had spent there the day before, and brought a lunch even though she couldn't imagine they'd have the time or desire to do any eating. It was a cold day, overcast and threatening rain, but she'd already decided she'd happily sit out here and get soaked again if it meant a few moments in Cullen's arms. She'd begun to feel eaten up by some persistent sense of foreboding, urging her to get as much of him as she could, while she could. In case the day ever came that she'd have to make a hard decision. She needed more information first of course, but if being with her put him in actual, mortal danger, then she couldn't in good conscience continue to put him at risk. Her heart already felt broken, even as she flailed to convince herself that Anders was simply full of shit. Yet as she sat on the ledge, staring into the thin line that was the untouchable horizon, she recognized some deep pessimism that lurked in the lowest levels of her subconscious, preventing her from believing all the arguments she could make. As of yet, not much in her life had really worked out the way she'd hoped, so how could she believe this would be any different? But she wasn't even really sure what she was hoping for with Cullen in the first place. She'd known from the beginning that what they had could not live out in the open, could not exist peacefully in the world they inhabited. It could only have been sheer foolishness that allowed them to ignore that.

Still, she was on high alert, jumping at every sound and looking anxiously toward the corner, heart beating in her ears as she sat in thrall, waiting to see if he was going to walk around it. But the minutes stretched on and on and no shiny metal body rounded the corner. She hadn't seen him on her way past the former Qunari compound, which now sat much quieter and with maybe only half the bodies working within than she'd seen the previous day. But each stretch of anxious anticipation was rewarded only with silence.

She rubbed at her arms, trying to warm them against the briskness of the autumn air, glad that she'd stashed a blanket in the chest that she'd brought out there. She pulled out the blanket and her eyes landed upon the change of clothing Cullen had worn to her house. He'd returned it of course, and there the coat and breeches sat, tidily folded and ready for their next use. Maker how she wished they'd get another use, and soon. At least one more, in case they really did have to make a hard decision sometime soon. She picked up the leather coat and brought it to her nose, breathing in deeply. A mere wisp of his scent clung to the inside, but it was enough to conjure up a vivid memory of the warm, golden skinned man.

Finally came the unmistakable footsteps and she quickly thrust the coat back into the chest, closing the lid and hurrying to the corner, waiting in a replay of the day he'd knocked her in the water. But this day she would be ready, and he likely would not be rushing in the same manner. He came around the corner and she gave him a second to see her before she was catching him, sliding her hands along his neck and pushing her lips onto his. He let out a surprised groan as she took his mouth, feeling the desperation to have him as close as possible rising rapidly within her. What a cruel fate that they had so many obstacles between them, that their future guaranteed little more than impossible choices and inevitable separation. She felt a driving, overwhelming need to have him, to possess him for the few moments they had together and her fingers flew over the seams of his armor, searching out the clasps that she'd become familiar with. She found the one under his shoulder piece and kept her mouth joined hard with his while she separated leather from buckle, and then the one at the side, connecting chestplate to backpiece and soon that was free too. He helped where he could and without breaking the kiss the metal encumberance quickly slid off and fell to the ground, his arms coming hard around her, squeezing at the cage of her ribs while his other hand relieved him of the remaining constraints around his waist.

He groaned as he kissed her, and when he was finally free, she pulled him with her as she leaned back against the wall of the building that bordered the ledge, wrapping a leg around his thigh and squeezing him close, her hands undoing her own breeches.

She'd worn the breeches specifically because they were easier to remove. While the robes could be lifted, they also had buttons at the back, and a tightly fitting bodice that took work to get off. Her breeches and smalls were around her ankles in a flash, and his followed, her hand seeking and finding the smooth firmness of his manhood, guiding it into place.

He slid slowly inside her, their scurrying finally ceasing as they both breathed through the intensity of his entry. She'd been ready for him immediately, her thighs slick with desire before her breeches even hit the ground and she moaned with the sweetness of the first stroke, her core stretched and filled slowly to its utmost. Two strong hands wrapped around her thighs and she was lifted, held into place between the wall behind her and the wall of his heaving chest. She squirmed with an abundance of conflicting desires, wanting him to to take her hard, to grind her against the wall and pound her into nothingness, but also wanting to stretch out and prolong every second, to draw out every stroke, caress and kiss until she was filled to the brim with the experience of him. He broke his kiss and rest his forehead against her shoulder, breathing deeply as he pressed his hips forward until the hilt of him was practically carrying her weight. Finally he looked up, his lips curling into a satisfied grin; an expression of relief that finally their separation was over, even if only for a moment.

His cheek was rough with stubble under her touch but still she scored her palm across, caressing the curves of his face with a need that swelled up almost painfully inside her. The vision of him so close and touchable, his eyes trained on her with such wanting, made that bruised spot in her gut ache. How was it that he could be right there, be fully inside her, and yet it still wasn't close enough? How could she ever be expected to bear the loss of this man now? Whether from a choice born of a desire to protect him, or an unfortunate discovery, she would be shattered down to her every last cell. He lived inside her now, his eyes and his voice and his lips carving their marks deeper and deeper with every kiss.

His mouth came in close to hers again and then hovered, lips parted, brushing, bumping, almost touching, his breath coming sharp and jagged as he found a steady rhythm between her legs. She rest her forehead against his and tried to keep her voice quiet as the impact of being filled jarred loose tendrils of pleasure that crawled outward, spreading down to her knees and up to her chest, piercing and filling the raw vessel of her heart. Finally she took his lips, suckling and keening into his mouth and then he was pulling away from the wall, keeping their bodies joined as he walked over to the bench and lowered himself, settling her in a straddle over his lap.

With hands freed from her thighs he surrounded her, one heavy palm sliding up her tunic to drag a hot trail from the small of her back up to the base of her neck, the other hand cupping her head as his mouth came in to merge fully with hers, his tongue penetrating deeply and deliberately. Together they rocked, sliding and gyrating until he too had to stifle his cries, squeezing his eyes shut with the effort. He was in her so deep it almost hurt, but it was a welcome pain, a reminder that what was happening was real, that he was really there and not an apparition born of wishful thinking. She raked through his hair, scoring her fingers over the firm hills of his shoulders, clutching him to her as hard as she dared as she tried to satisfy that hungry ache for him.

They finished simultaneously, her own slow-building orgasm drawn from within her by the sounds of his, by the increase of force in his thrusts and the failed attempts at stifling his groans. Neither of them made a move to separate upon completion, with her sliding her arms under his and resting in the cradle of his chest. He nuzzled her hair and held her hard against him as his cock softened inside her.

"What would happen to you if we were found out?" she asked finally, pulling her face from the nook of his shoulder to gaze up into his tired eyes. His cheeks held a flush of pink and he blinked hard as he considered the question.

"Nothing good," he said finally.

"Don't you worry about that?" She caressed his cheek, running her thumb lightly along the edges of his lips.

"I do. It wouldn't be the first time that a mage and Templar were discovered to be carrying on an affair, and certainly not the last. But in my case, serving under a zealot and in this particular climate, I would expect that Meredith would want to make an example of me."

"An example how? Would you be harmed?"

Cullen's eyes grew dark, his lips dropping into a frown.

"I honestly don't know. She is… increasingly erratic and unpredictable."

"And yet… you're still here. With me. Despite the risk?"

He exhaled heavily and smoothed back her hair.

"I am. I am here, in the only place in Thedas that I actually _want_ to be."

"Cullen…" she began, but hesitated. The thought of telling him they couldn't, or shouldn't, be together withered and died before it made it to her throat. She couldn't possibly force herself to say such a thing when she was sitting in his arms, her chest filled with pure adulation, their bodies still basking in the glow of their union. It would go against everything that she truly wanted. She swallowed hard, her hands falling heavy on his chest. His eyes grew concerned, searching hers deeply, but he waited patiently for her to finish.

"Why would you risk this for me?" she finished.

"Avery, you must know the answer to that," he said.

"Must I?"

"Look… neither of us knows what's going to happen in the future. It's quite possible this war will destroy every last one of us before it's over. But you make me feel… stronger. I have even been sleeping lately, more than just an hour at a time. I have been a better leader for my men because of it. To know at any given moment that you're out there in the city somewhere, and that you _care_ … about me… it brings me a peace I haven't known in a long time," he said. "And I think I'm falling in…"

"No, no, no," she cut in. "Don't you say the L word. If you say that, there's no going back. Right now, we could still change this, we could make this less… less likely to hurt both of us when we inevitably have to end it."

"Less likely how? Do you mean make this just sex? It's already too late for that, Avery. And I wouldn't take this risk for anything less than what… what we already have. If you want less, then we might as well just end it right now," he said, his voice softening, "But I hope that's not what you want. I know it's foolish… it's so blighted foolish… but… well… _Is_ that what you really want?"

"No. No. Not at all," she said, pulling his face in for another kiss, taking a long moment to savor the feel of his soft, ambrosial lips. She pulled away reluctantly. "But I also don't want you to be harmed, and if you're harmed because of me…. I couldn't bear it." She lowered her face into the nook of his neck and brushed her lips against his soft, fragrant skin. His arms tightened, his jaw digging into her shoulder and she breathed into him, trying to force out all the tension that'd been occupying her.

"Maybe you should just be really mean to me in public," she sighed and then pulled away to look him in the eye again. "And for Maker's sake, be careful how you look at me! Anders noticed!"

He snorted, the corner of his lips curling. "Did he? Well… yes, you're right. We should be as careful as possible. I fear for you as well. Meredith would love to get her hands on you. Though she'll have to come through me to do it."

She kissed him again, soundly and completely, melting into him and blocking out the nagging voice in her head. It was hard to imagine a danger to her as she sat there in his arms. Despite the very real risk, she could still think of no where else in Kirkwall that she felt safer.


	10. Chapter 10

Notes: Lots of smut ahead. There was supposed to be more story, but it got a little hard to restrain myself, because Cullen. Turns out he's a little bit of a dirty talker. Also, there's butt stuff. Please let me know if I overdid it at all.

* * *

The fact that Avery's fingers were still trembling as she skimmed gently through Cullen's tousled blond hair made her smile to herself. He'd arrived at her house shortly after the sun had gone down and within an hour's time she found herself collapsing and feeling thoroughly, properly ravished. Her body still thrummed with the memory of the exertion, her muscles quivering tiredly with every move she tried to make. The last time she'd been pushed to her physical limits in the same way was the last time she'd found herself overwhelmed and outnumbered in the midst of an intense fight. It was a good feeling, her pent up, shamelessly lustful energy completely spent, in the only way that it truly could be.

His hair was damp, with short, wild curls sticking out in all directions. His chiseled torso bare and still slightly slick, and she had settled back against her pillow to enjoy the quiet moments that followed the raging storm that had moistened her thighs and her sheets. She stroked his face and his hair with her fingertips, unable to do much more than stare blissfully at his peacefully resting face. It was relatively early still. Dark, but it was dark earlier now that autumn was in full swing.

He was… a vision. The slight curve to his jaw, the reddened contours of his kiss-swollen lips, the way all the lines and angles of his face came together so perfectly… she could have laid awake looking at him all night.

He must have felt her eyes. One of his fluttered open and a golden iris locked onto her, his mouth curling into an amused smirk before his lid dropped closed again. She leaned down and kissed the smooth rounded muscle of his shoulder and he let out an approving groan, his leg sliding deeper between hers. She inhaled a serene breath, her mind still blessedly empty. All thought had been pounded out of her and replaced with only the sensory awareness of him. With each breath, she fell further and further into a delirious rapture. She couldn't stop looking, couldn't stop kissing, couldn't stop pressing her fingertips over all the enticing planes of him. Couldn't stop sighing every time she took a deep breath of air scented by his skin, that perfect distinctive scent of him, and no one else. If the color amber had a smell, that would be Cullen's. It was a hint of a pleasant warm musk mixed with a touch of something woody and soothing. Almost like the frankincense that they burned at the chantry. She was laying in a cloud of it, his skin blazing before her, his sweat drying on her body. His eye flicked open a second time, catching her unmoved, still studying his face. This time his smirk became a wide, bashful smile and he snorted a quiet little laugh.

"What?" he asked.

She smiled back. "What?"

"You're staring at me. I can feel it."

"So? I have a handsome beast of a man resting naked in my bed. I'm not allowed to look?" she teased through an unmoveable grin. "After how much you've seen of me, it's only fair."

"Well… you do make a point. Though I can't imagine there's as much for you to look at as there is for me."

She laughed. Oh how little he knew.

"That is where you are wrong my darling. You are a feast for the eyes." She slid herself down her pillow, resting her face closer to his. "I could drown myself in you, and die exultantly, resplendently happy."

He laughed shyly, stretching a lazy arm out to pull her in and tucking her tight against his chest. She nuzzled in, his skin enveloping her in warmth, and she could feel as much as hear his strong heartbeats pounding against the walls of his chest.

"Well that's… very flattering and sweet, but it looked you were mostly just looking at my face," he said sleepily. "Do I have a smudge on my cheek or something? Food in my teeth?"

She snorted, "Not exactly. I just… I love your face. It gets better every time I look at it."

"Tsk tsk tsk, you said the L word."

"I did, didn't I? Well what are you going to do about it, Knight-Captain?" she teased some more.

He sighed contentedly, his voice partially muffled by pillow, "I... will have to get back to you on that. I'm not going to be capable of doing anything at all just yet."

She twirled her fingers through the dusting of golden curls on his chest, skimming lightly over the swell of firm muscle.

"Well perhaps some fuel for your weary bones might help? I know I am feeling a bit peckish… " she said eventually. She'd had little to eat that evening, as anxious as she'd been for his arrival. It was their third full night together but she'd found herself as nervous and excited as if it were their first. Every single night in between she'd endured the usual dark, lustful madness, wishing with every cell in her that he was there, that she could kiss him, smell him, run her hands along his face and make him feel how much she wanted him. Days of separation had built the need up inside her, a dam waiting, straining to burst.

"Perhaps," he sighed. She grinned again at the peaceful looseness in his voice. So very different from the anguished, strung out Cullen she'd first met on the ledge.

She slid out of his arms, kissing down his biceps and forearms along the way, and crept off the bed, keeping her eyes locked onto his bounty of creamy skin. As her feet hit the floor she pulled the sheet down with her until it slid over the pert cheeks of his bottom, exposing them to the orange glow of the room and giving her a satisfying eyeful. He snorted again, a tired half-laugh that indicated he knew she'd done it on purpose. She stood for a moment, admiring the graceful thighs and the two dimples at the small of his waist. In an irresistible flit of impulse, she moved in to place a gentle lovebite on the center of one his cheeks. He yelped quietly, one eye flicking open as he laughed into the pillow. She offered only an unapologetic shrug in response, and then slipped on her satin robe, padding quietly out the door and over the balcony toward the stairs.

She was chopping an apple into wedges when she heard a distinct sound that made her freeze in place, blade hovering in mid-slice. Her heart jumped into her throat as she realized Anders was knocking again at the basement door. She looked to the window. Completely dark. What could possibly be his reason for such a late visit? She stood unmoving for a few anxious seconds, her mind racing through all her options. She could answer it, hear whatever Anders had to say and just hope to the Maker he didn't notice how ruffled and pink she was. She could answer it and just tell him she wasn't feeling well and to please try to speak to her tomorrow, or she could just act like she hadn't heard the knock at all and hurry back up to her room. But if he continued to knock… that could cause its own problems. Bodahn, might hear, or he might decide to just let himself in and go searching for her…

"Hawke?"

His voice cut through her buzzing thoughts and she startled, bringing the blade down into a finger that still clutched the apple below it, sending splatters of crimson all over the plate. Or, she sighed, he could apparently just go ahead and let himself in without waiting for anyone to come to the door.

"Andraste's tits Anders!" she scowled as she turned to face him. His eyes were drawn immediately to the bleeding finger and before she could blink he was there, holding her hand in his own, with his pulsations of healing energy stopping the flow of blood and weaving her flesh back together. Once he'd begun she'd just stood quietly until it was finished.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said softly, still cradling her hand within long, elegant fingers. She slipped away from his grasp without looking up at his face, gathering up the bloody apple and taking it to the water basin.

"You're here awfully late," she said. She self consciously ran her hand over her hair and tightened her robe.

"It's… actually not really that late. It's just dark." He crossed to the room to the window and drew the curtains closed and finally she dared to meet his eyes. He leaned against the wall by the window and studied her sharply. After taking in her bare legs and disheveled hair, his gaze landed upon a spot at the base of her neck and stayed here. For the first time she felt it, a hot spot that burned slightly. She recalled Cullen's mouth at her throat, devouring with an eager enthusiasm, even going so far as to use his teeth. And then there was the matter of his stubble, scuffing and scraping… she automatically raised a hand to her throat and fingered along the soreness. He must have left a mark. She felt her cheeks grow hot, sure that that was only adding to whatever flush remained from her and Cullen's last passionate hour.

"You… have company?" he asked quietly. His dark eyes fell flat as he said the words. She knew that gentle tone. That was the tone his voice took when he was trying to hide being hurt. She shook her head fervently.

"Is it Fenris?"

"No." she said. "I mean, no I don't have company. Just me and the dwarves… as usual…" She tried to loosen her stance and flash him an easy smile, hoping it looked normal, natural. But as she raked her hand through her hair again her fingers tangled in a puffy nest of knots at the back of her head. She sighed and extricated her hand, trying to nonchalantly pat the puff of knots down flat. "I just… Had a bit of a late nap. I guess I lost track of time. Er, I mean, you know, overslept. Anyway, did you need something?" she asked as she turned back to wash the apple pieces, but a few of the wedges remained pink. She sighed and just tossed them all into the bin and grabbed a new apple.

"Well I was going to see if we could go to the bone pit early tomorrow… I am a little anxious about this potion. And I … I might need another favor after that as well, though we can talk about that later," he said quietly. After they'd finished collecting Anders' weird chunks of stuff from the sewers, they'd called it quits for the day, to her and Fenris's great relief. She and Anders had started bickering over stupid things, her mood completely destroyed by his comments about Cullen, and they'd all gotten all so smelly from splashing around in Maker-knows-what that the only thing any of them wanted to do afterward was return to their homes and bathe.

"Well… I don't know. How early?" She asked after a pause. The last time Cullen had stayed the night, he'd risen with the sun, dressing quickly and slipping out the door in a matter of minutes, while she went back to bed and slept til mid-morning, utterly exhausted from that night's enthusiastic activities.

"Just after first light, ideally. I've got some things to take care of in the clinic during the day tomorrow, so… I was hoping to return by noon." His dark eyes remained wary and hooded. It was clear enough that her attempts to lie had not been convincing. She sighed. The last thing she really wanted to do was walk all the way out to the bone pit after a night of, well, much less sleep than she would normally have gotten.

"Um… could you possibly wait a day longer? I… have a headache. It's why I was napping," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "the bone pit's already shitty enough without going there feeling like your head's about split open…"

Anders was quiet for a long moment. She felt her heart begin to quicken and she turned again to look fully at him, seeing the suspicion in his eyes.

"So you're not even going to ask me to take care of that for you? Because you know I can," he said. "You could probably take care of it yourself, Avery. We both know you have the skill for that much."

 _Shit._ Of course. Such an idiot!

"I tried… it didn't help… I think I'm just tired. I haven't been sleeping well lately… at night. I mean, my nap was fine. Good, even. But at night lately… I've had nightmares. So, hence, no sleep."

She winced inwardly. _Just shut your mouth._

Anders pushed off the wall and walked purposefully toward her, stopping inches away from her face to raise his hands to her temples. She felt the familiar feeling of him pulling on the fade, a faint tickle like cobwebs sweeping over her skin, and immediately after he blasted her with a pulse of healing so intense that it sent tingles rippling down to her toes. His eyes remained dark, squinting just enough to raise a slow burn of panic within her.

"Let me know if you don't feel better in the morning and I'll get you a potion," he said, his voice clipped and clinical. And as quickly as he had appeared, he'd turned and exited back out of the room. She could hear his footsteps down the hall, and then the basement door as it clicked closed.

She exhaled, feeling as though she'd been holding her breath that whole time. She smacked a palm up to her forehead, continuing to wince at her own fumbling. Maker's balls!

As she carried the plate of cheese and bread up the stairs she realized that her appetite was gone. Not only had she completely failed to handle that whole situation in a believable manner, but she was a shit liar all around when caught off guard like that. How in the void could she possibly succeed in keeping Cullen a secret?

She'd expected to see Cullen laying in the same spot she'd left him, possibly even asleep. But he was sitting up, resting against the headboard, his sleepy face blooming into a quick grin as she entered, but faltering as he processed her sullen expression. She set the plate down on her bedside table and collapsed heavily onto the bed, digging her face into the sheets.

"What?" he asked immediately.

"I am a shit liar," she moaned, cringing inwardly as Anders' suspicious eyes burned at her from within her memory. "How am I going to keep us a secret when I am such a shit fucking liar!?"

His hands brushed softly over her hair.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, confused.

She explained what had just occurred, and he only nodded as his eyes went distant. "I feel like I have seen you lie before and it wasn't that bad…"

"You have? About what!? I don't remember… but you apparently knew I was lying?" she asked. "So obviously I wasn't doing that great."

He laughed softly, "I guess maybe I mean how natural you are with me in front of the other Templars. That much is convincing." The bed shifted as he positioned himself forward, landing a kiss on the back of her hair. "If you can keep that up, we'll be fine. Besides, how is it possible you've made it this far in the last six years without learning how to lie convincingly?"

"Well… because I don't really lie. I generally just stay pretty truthful for the most part, I guess," she sighed again. "It's worked for me so far."

He pulled her up the bed as though she weighed nothing, and then curled himself behind her, wrapping his arms tight under hers. He kissed her gently behind the ear.

"Well, if that's true, then… I must say, I actually really like that about you…" he said. "But I have seen you at work, Avery. I believe you'll be able to say what you need to when it really counts. You always do."

"You don't think it counts with Anders?"

He shrugged, "you'd know that better than I would."

"And you're not worried?"

"Not yet. He didn't see me… you could have anyone up here. Or no one at all. Maybe you'd just had a passionate night with yourself," he teased. She snorted grudgingly.

She lay still, lost momentarily in thought as Cullen began loosening the ties of her robes, working it down her arms. The fact that he didn't seem terribly concerned was comforting on its own. She moved with him, enabling him to fully remove the satin constraints, which he promptly tossed onto the floor. It was possible that Anders might not bring it up again at all. That he might respect her privacy enough to just drop it. If he didn't, she could always remind him that he was the one who had broken her heart originally, choosing Fenris over her, even within her own bed with her present, and even after they'd been an established couple for almost two years. Which effectively disqualified him from having any say in whatever personal choices she made from then on. That would certainly end any conversation. As long as he didn't glimpse anything specifically between her and Cullen, it might be enough to let that little exchange fade into nothingness.

Still she felt anxious. She'd prefer there not being any questions from anyone at all. But perhaps that was simply too much to hope for.

She reached back and clutched at Cullen's waist, pulling him more firmly against her. She writhed gently, sliding the length of her against his warm, soft skin before squeezing tighter against him. She sighed, feeling more and more tension draining out of her. There was nothing more she could do now anyway. Cullen's fingers trailed gently up the back of her thighs, over her buttock and worked its way up her spine. A shiver raced over her and she felt goosebumps raise on her skin, teasing her nipples into hardened points. She exhaled again and tried to force herself to relax further. Everything would be okay. It had to be.

From behind her, his cock stirred gently and he pressed his hips against hers as his hand wound forward to her breasts, cupping as the mounds of flesh and rolling her nipple between nimble fingertips.

"Well, someone's got a little bit of their energy back?" she whispered, eying the plate of food. As much as her appetite had disappeared, she was going to be completely demolished by another lovemaking session with him. Thank goodness she'd had the presence of mind not to agree to go with Anders to the bone pit.

His lips landed on her neck and kissed over the raw area on her throat, followed by the gentle nip of his teeth on her shoulder. He slowly grinded into her buttocks, his cock twitching slightly as it grew, nestling itself along the cleft of her cheeks.

"Mmm, perhaps a little," he groaned. "I think I might be making up for lost time."

"Right… yes, years without a lover's touch will do that," she said, gripping him harder from behind. She recalled the night on the floor in her livingroom, how learning about his deprivation of touch had only stoked the fire of her desire for him. How was it possible that this man could go so long without numerous women, and probably men, throwing themselves at him? Without him giving into at least some of them?

"It was worth it to wait for yours," he whispered, the words a knife of tenderness to her gut. Her eyes closed and she pressed harder against him, rearing up to turn herself around so she could look at his face. There were words on the tip of her own tongue, itching to be released. Words about how glad she was to have been so heartbroken to find herself on the ledge. About how she couldn't bear the thought of such an uncertain future with him. She wanted a _certain_ future. She wanted this, all night, every night, to know that they could hold on to what they had, regardless of what the imminent war brought them, and brought the rest of the city. Even if the city burned to the ground, she wanted to go down wrapped in his arms. She wanted to say, really, genuinely say the L word. But she bit it back. The remaining anxiety from the possibility of discovery by Anders constricting her throat.

"But maybe we can take it a bit slower this time," he said, breaking her out of her stream of thought. "I'd like to see you come first again."

She smiled. "Oh would you?" She melted into his warm skin, her hands searching behind her and finding contoured muscle, firm thighs and the sharp jut of a hipbone.

"Maybe a few times…" he whispered, his voice a quiet rasp in her ear. She felt the cool slide of the tip of his tongue, traveling up her neck and ending at lips on her earlobe.

"You are such a generous man," she cooed.

"Oh darling, it's for me as much as it is for you. There is nothing I like better." His mouth opened hot and devouring on her shoulder as he bucked into her buttocks again, his cock large and solid within the softness of her cheeks. His hand left her breast and dragged down toward her sex, his fingers probing gently, whispering titillating strokes down her slit.

"You're always so wet for me Avery," he moaned, gyrating toward her again. His finger slid between her folds and quickly found her nerve center. He was gentle, sliding languorous circles around her pearl and sparking a blaze of throbbing heat within. His finger left the apex of her folds and slid further back, trailing all the way past her opening and landing softly within the depths of her cheeks. She moaned as he hit her rear entry, and squirmed into his touch.

"Sorry, I just want to touch all of you," he whispered quietly. "I want to know every inch of your body."

She breathed hard, her clit beginning to throb with intensified arousal.

"I like it. I like everything you do," she gasped. "My body is yours Cullen."

He groaned again, his teeth gently nipping at her earlobes.

"Tell me my beautiful vixen, what makes you come harder, my fingers or my cock?" he breathed.

"Both. Together. I have never come so hard in my life as when you're buried deep inside me and your fingers stroking me at the same time," she sighed.

"Is that so? In your life?" He grinded against her butt again and she pressed back into him, squeezing his exploring fingers between the seam of her ass and his cock.

"Tell me what else you like. What else would you like us to do?" the low rumble of desire in his voice sent waves of shimmering need under her skin. The sultry sound, combined with the eroticism of his words, was almost as arousing as the deft ministrations of his fingers.

She swallowed hard. She had so many fantasies of them together. Their nights kept separate were a veritable theater of fantasy after fantasy. All of them involved making him whimper, teasing him until his eyes turned dark and he lost all control.

"I want to be under your command, Knight-Captain. Tell me what to do to make you come as hard as you make me," she breathed, pushing her butt back against his finger. She felt the buzz of electric tension as his fingertip penetrated her, but only just barely. She took in a sharp, jagged breath. "I am your willing… eager servant."

"Oh my darling…" he breathed as his forehead dug into her shoulder, his cock beginning to slide gently between the cheeks of her ass just above his finger. She was aching with sweetness from the inside out, wanting him to fill her again, in every possible place.

"But that is more about you pleasing me, not me pleasing you…" he rasped.

"Pleasing you _does_ please me," she said, her fingers itching to find their way down to her sex, to help along the ocean of sensations that was undulating and straining for release within her. She pressed further back against his finger. As if reading her mind, his other arm pushed under her and began making its way between her legs. She moaned softly in anticipation of more of his touch.

"I want to hide under your desk in your tent, and take you in my mouth as you debrief an army of soldiers. I want to make you squirm, and suck every ounce of seed from you while you have to pretend nothing's happening," she said.

He groaned and pressed his finger deeper into her rear, swirling gentle circles around and sending a jolt of buzzing sensation forward into the depths of her. Her insides contracted, squeezing against the peal of sensation.

"I want you to fuck my mouth while you pull my hair," she gasped, and she moved her hips slightly, arching back and forth along his finger. He groaned, the fingers of his other hand finally finding their way to her wet folds. He immediately sank two fingers deep within her sex, his thumb settling upon the nub of nerves at the apex of her lips. She gasped again, a ripple of electricity shooting up to her nipples as his hands filled both her entrances, his thumb tenderly teasing her into a slow building frenzy. She was grinding against his hands, wanting them both deeper. She hadn't felt this overwhelmingly, deliciously stimulated since she'd found herself sandwiched between two slender men.

"Say that word again," he whispered urgently.

"What word?"

"Fuck," he said. Hearing it from his own throat sent a thrill down her core.

"Fuck," she whimpered. His hands drove deeper, and she felt more fingers sliding into the join the ones already teasing such intense waves of pleasure from her.

"Fuck, Cullen… _fuck me_ …" she gasped. He growled as the fingers in her ass retreated, replaced by the large, firm head of his cock. She gasped again, and then reached an arm around to his hips, steadying his entry.

"Yes, fill me completely Cullen. I want you everywhere…."

"Say my name again," he panted.

"Cullen, my love, Cullen, _please_ …." She begged, her voice becoming a wail. The need was so intense she had to physically stop herself from thrashing against him. Despite the thrusting force of his hands within her, the touch of his thumb on her nerve center remained light, teasing a sharply sweet trill of pleasure out with every lazy swirl. His arms around her were solid, bulky, and his hot breath in her ear was coming in quicker and quicker bursts. She was filled by him, consumed by him, the focus of her mind blurring away and giving fully over to a rapturous euphoria. Her whole body burned desperately for more, for him to drive deeper, fill her tighter. Her toes were curling, her hands fisted into tight balls as she thrust her hips toward him, over and over, searching for additional friction. Finally his cock burst through her rear entrance, spreading her open with a sensation that was an agonizingly sweet mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Is this okay?" he asked gently between panting breaths.

"Yes. More Cullen. Deeper, please… I need you… please…" she moaned, her voice drawn taut and shrill with the intensity of her need. She bucked her hips, grinding helplessly against him as waves of pleasure shuddered through her.

"Yes. Maker you sound so sweet when you beg. I love the sound of my name on your lips," he crooned, his forehead nuzzling into the base of her neck as he curled around her. She gripped his hips and tried to urge him to move with him, to pull slowly in and out and finally give her body what it so badly needed.

"You have to come first my darling. And then I'll finish fucking you." he entreated. "Come as hard as you can for me baby."

The movement of his thumb increased in pressure and she gyrated uncontrollably toward it, squeezing her legs closed, desperate to reach that towering edge of madness.

"I will… I will… " she breathed, her body arching and grinding, her mind lost to a maelstrom of wanting.

"Maker's breath you're gorgeous Avery," he breathed into her ear. She felt his teeth on her shoulder again, her flesh smarting with a welcome sting.

"Hurry baby…" he growled, "Please... Please hurry so I can join you."

She thrust back against his cock, feeling it slide fully inside her, the intensity of his entry overpowering all other sensation and she moaned shamelessly, her voice rising to a fever pitch for a moment while she rested against him and adjusted to his thickness. He growled again, his hips grinding hard into her. He held the position, pressing hard and tight and allowing for no additional thrusting. She settled back against him, feeling the walls of herself loosen, relaxing into the thrum of ecstasy.

Her hand joined his, helping his thumb as it slid along the slickness of her folds and he groaned again, his hips clenching behind her. She could feel the powerful need within them to begin thrusting, but he was holding back, keeping himself perfectly in control. She knew once he was unleashed, she would be pounded mercilessly into the bed again. Seeing his resolve lost and abandoned to pure ecstasy would only be the sweeter in the wake of his unbreakable discipline, and she knew she'd have to obey his orders if she was going to see him reach that point himself. She pressed down on the aching pearl of nerves and bucked forward, helping him apply the pressure she needed to finally, blessedly, send her careening wildly over the edge.

Her consciousness disappeared into a blaze of searingly sweet sensation as the wall of tension crested, toppling over her and crushing her hard against Cullen's chest. She heard cries escaping her throat that sounded positively feral, the stimulation in every possible part of her sex unraveling her, driving her into an explosion of orgasms that felt like multiples occurring simultaneously. She panted, gasping, crying, tears stinging through her squeezed shut eyes as her body pulsed with release, clenching against him. And then finally, she felt him begin to move. Slowly at first, sliding in long slow strokes in and out, dragging that slightly painful buzz into a smooth current of intensity, reverberating through her inner walls and vibrating that aching center of pulsating nerves.

He growled again as he withdrew completely, flipping her over and spreading her legs. She saw him through a hazy swirl of delirium, her body loose and eager to comply with whatever he wanted, moving in whatever manner and direction he urged. In a blink he was inside her again, the electric bolt of their rejoining causing her back to arch involuntarily. One of his hands fell heavy between her breasts, and the other plunged nimble fingers into her other entrance, curling forward and teasing at places still thrumming with the remnants of orgasm. His thumb fell back into place over her clitoris and she reached down to help, only to find his hand leaving her chest and sweeping both her wrists over her head, holding them tightly against the dampened sheets. She relaxed into his hold, handing over complete control as she angled her hips forward to give him better access. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to watch him. His muscles glistened in the dying firelight, dusted with a scattering of beads of sweat. His eyes were darker than ever, his usually amber irises stained black and raw with wanton desperation. His lips were parted, his hips rolling and undulating over her as his fingers prodded the deep current of energy within her. She was waiting, trying to hold her eyes open even as waves of building tension built up within her again. She needed to see that moment, the moment that his body and his mind were taken over by sheer pleasure and his eyes grew animalistic, his grunts turning into growls and then whimpers and then sighs.

She moved with him, spasming hard as he stretched the remnants of one orgasm into the next, her throat feeling raw with cries and pained breaths. His mouth descended upon hers and he slowed for a moment.

"I don't want this to end yet," he whispered against her cheek. She suckled on his kiss-swollen lips and arched her chest forward so that her nipples brushed against his chest. "You look so fucking beautiful Avery. I can't tell you how many times I have thought about this… you eager and open beneath me…" he panted, coming back down to thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth. "And it's so much better than I imagined."

"Cullen," she cried as she captured his mouth again and he moaned against her. The strokes of his cock within her drawn long and languorous . "Please…" she panted.

"Please what my darling?" he asked. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment and locked into his, connecting with the deep ache behind her breastbone that flooded her mind with so many wants and fears, so many words swallowed, emotions that rocked her with their intensity.

"Please don't stop, Cullen. Please don't ever stop."

His forehead dropped to her shoulder as he worked himself back within her, sliding slowly to the hilt as his jagged breath rushed loud in her ears. "I don't intend to," he said quietly.

He picked up speed again and refocused his thumb on her clit, which was still tethered to the stream of already spent orgasms. Within seconds she was falling over another cliff, her body quaking with a continuing storm of blissful agony. She mewled and keened, her voice reduced to something primal and inhuman, escaping in gasps and moans completely of its own accord.

Cullen's hand slipped out of her, wiped briefly on the already moist sheets and then he pushed her thighs up toward her body, angling her hips for deepest possible penetration. He lowered himself, his body still rocking and thrusting with growing urgency, and his hands slipped under her head, cupping and holding tenderly as his weight settled between her legs. His face was inches away, lips parted, her mouth drawn magnetically to his as his brows furrowed, his lips drawing up in a feral snarl, the air filled with sharp slapping sounds as he pounded his way toward the precipice of his own orgasm. She surged up and caught his lower lip in her teeth, pulling his face to hers as he groaned, her hands finding and digging her fingers into the supple flesh of his behind, helping his hips remain steady, pulling him incrementally deeper with every thrust, urging him into total, blissful freefall. Finally, with one long stroke he dove into her and stayed, buried, burning, his hips jerking and throbbing, twitching toward her with the release of his seed. His eyes were squeezed shut, and gutteral, agonizingly sweet sounds of ecstasy pulsed out of him in time with the gentle surges of his hips. She raked her fingers through his hair, holding his face before hers and she opened all her senses wide, feeling the veil shimmer around her, feeling the breakneck speed of his powerful heart, the swells and dips of his heaving chest. Their bodies strummed the same metaphysical chord, vibrating harmoniously together as the storm of sensation peaked and raged, and then slowly, reluctantly, began to calm. The clouds parted, the wind died down and they settled together, limbs entwining limbs, breaths moving in time as one, every last drop of energy spent.

As the last traces of tension seeped from their bones, sleep clobbered them over the head like a hammer, dragging them both down into an immediate unconsciousness.


	11. Chapter 11

She only had a few seconds to blink the sleep away before Cullen was rocketing out of the bed. A nightmare, and one that apparently came fast and hard. A few twitches, a quick moment of thrashing, and then he'd jerked completely out from under her, leaving her stunned and confused as she fell into the gap of space he left behind.

"Cullen?"

He was standing coiled and still in the soft glow of moonlight. She swung her feet over the side of the bed, wondering if he was fully awake or if he might still be in the grip of his dream. Cautiously she stood and took a few quiet steps, stopping when the features of his face became visible. He was looking intently toward something in the distance, but seemed to be trying to shake himself out of it. Finally his head turned, dark shadows swallowing up the hollows around his eyes.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently.

There was a sound sort of like a choked down gasp, and then he looked around and nodded, his body visibly unwinding, muscles loosening, posture straightening.

His hand was sweaty, but his fingers welcomed hers.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I'm okay."

She led him the few steps back to the bed and he settled down into her arms. His cheek rested in the nook of her shoulder and she surrounded him to the best of her ability, cradling broad shoulders and damp hair, her legs circling his narrow hips and snaking a foot between his thighs. He sighed a long, drawn out sigh. He was thick and firm in her embrace, his clammy skin rippling with shivers and beaded with cold sweat. She caressed his hair and kissed his brow, imbuing her touch with as much calm as she could muster.

"Are your nightmares usually about the same things?" she asked, her whisper sounding surprisingly loud as it cut through the darkness.

He cleared his throat and took a breath. "At times. There are… variations."

"But they are of… something that happened to you?"

He nodded.

"Do you think… it might help to talk about it?" she asked gently.

He pulled his head away from her chest, the dark shadows of his face looking up at her. She waited as his lips parted and his breath caught, but no words emerged for several long seconds.

"You've heard of what happened at Kinloch Hold during the blight?" he asked.

She nodded. "I have. Only a few people made it out of there."

"That is correct," he said quietly. "I was one of them."

She sighed, her chest growing heavy. She knew what that meant of course. More blood mages. He'd been locked in a tower that was terrorized by demons and abominations, brought forth deliberately by a cabal of corrupt damn mages. Her worry melted into a dispirited gloom. It seemed there was no corner of her life where blood magic wasn't ruining everything, and that wasn't even truly her life. That was Cullen's. She could only imagine what he must have seen, what he must have endured. Her heart sank lower and lower into grief as she rested her cheek gently on the top of his head. Though he had every reason in the world to hate and fear mages, here he was, resting in the arms of one.

"I see," she squeaked out sadly. Yet more reminders that her own abilities were widely and routinely turned into something evil and detestable. Some called them gifts, such as Anders, but with the company they lumped her in with, they had long begun to seem more like a curse.

"You don't need to say any more if you don't want to," she whispered.

But he continued anyway. "One of the mages… got pretty deep into my head. Sometimes it feels like he's still there… like I'm still locked in that little bubble…"

"Bubble?"

"I don't know how else to describe it. Some magic barrier…" he said.

She swallowed hard, and loosened her embrace on him, suddenly nervous that she might be constricting him too much. Surely he would let her know if that was the case, or so she hoped. Perhaps that explained his fear of small spaces. She simultaneously wanted to know more, and was afraid to ask. The thought of raising up memories of torture by mages filled her with an irrational fear of her own. Might a resurgence of those memories remind him that he was in the grip of a mage again, at that very moment? Might bringing those memories to the forefront of his mind begin, however incrementally, to turn the tide of his feelings for her? How was that not inevitable anyway? How was it that he had already been so forgiving? Was it simply that he pretended she didn't have magic?

More of Anders' words echoed through her mind. _It's like you're trying to make people forget you're a mage._ That was true, but it was really only Cullen that she wanted to forget. And she seemed to have succeeded in that. But it was a lie.

The flood of thoughts came and settled uneasily under her skin before she finally tried to stomp them out. How selfish of her to be dwelling on how this all affected her, when he was the one struggling.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked finally.

"Nothing more than you've already done," he said. "Just knowing that I am here, now, with you. That helps."

She stroked his face lightly, unsticking damp tendrils of hair from his forehead and brushing her lips along the soft line of his brow. She tried to think of something else to say, something happy and hopeful and completely unrelated to magic or death or any number of horrors that haunted every move they made. But her thoughts had already sunk deep into a well of doubt and insecurity, and any beam of optimism she might have tried to grasp was quickly fading into black.

It was exhausting already, this flip flopping. Their little affair hadn't lasted long, but while his affections remained constant and his words reassuring, she'd had such a struggle keeping her own emotions on an even keel. For every stretch of euphoria, such as the entire previous night, there was an equal stretch of fear. For every minute prickled with anticipation and excitement, there were others darkened by dread. With the wrong word or action, she could ruin his career, endanger his life or remind him that his opinion of her should be very, very different than what it was. She, like any mage, had the power to decimate others with the flick of a wrist, and was often the target of enticing propositions by demons and other dark creatures of the Fade. Someday, just by being what she was, she might inadvertently convince him that he should be opposing her, not holding her. And why wouldn't he eventually change his mind about wanting her? Hadn't everyone else?

Maybe it was better that his feelings be made to change, somehow. Maybe that would make the end easier.

"What are you thinking about right now?" he asked, breaking into her stream of thought. She was silent, able to conjure up only a nervous breath.

"Nothing worth talking about," she sighed. She wasn't sure if there was any point in voicing her fears, unless she was considering doing something about them. Reassurance probably wouldn't help, considering she wouldn't really believe it. It might only make her feel worse, that a man could be so kind, so steady, and still she found so much reason for doubt.

"The sun is going to be rising soon," he whispered.

"You should sleep while you can then. I'll wake you when it's light," she said, landing soft kisses on the lids of his eyes. He pulled up, his hand sliding to her jaw and bringing her face forward to his. She tried to record the kiss in her mind to replay later, the tickle of his breath coming through his nose, his lips dry, smooth and soft, his hand on her face slightly rough with callouses, but gentle and firm. He kissed like he he meant it, like he was communicating something deep and real. It raised the ache of a sob somewhere between her lungs and her ribs but she choked it back, squeezing her eyes shut to stem the threat of unexpected tears.

Was it simply his nightmare that had brought on this darkened mood, this flood of anguish? Or had it been there all along? Only hiding underneath everything else, distracted temporarily by bare skin and mind-numbing, soul shattering sex?

He sank back down into her arms and she tried to savor every second she held him as she waited with a heavy heart for the sun to rise.

"You're quiet today Hawke," remarked Fenris. She was lingering over the Hightown market tables again. Not seeing anything she wanted or needed, but also not seeing any pressing reason to walk away. It seemed silly that she should be walking around in such a funk after the night she'd had with Cullen. By all normal markers she should be floating along in her usual dreamy daze, mind filled with scenes of tousled blond hair and burning brown eyes. She couldn't even begin to quantify all the thoughts she'd had in those early morning hours, thoughts which had seemed to lay a persistent pall over her mind. Even if she wasn't worrying over each one of her fears, she could still feel them rattling around inside, whispering portents of pain and regret into her ear as she walked through the day. There was so much at risk and so much at stake. If only she and Cullen could live in another world, during another time. If only she wasn't increasingly coming to the conclusion that it would be better, safer, for both of them, just to end it soon. And that perhaps if she did she might preserve her heart, and his life.

Fenris was standing close, close enough that she could feel the slight disturbance in the air as he moved, the faint glow of heat from his skin. She could practically trace the path of his eyes as they bored into her.

She turned to face him finally, feeling completely exposed under those green, over-sized orbs. She shrugged, finally acknowledging the statement he'd made minutes ago, and then quickly looking away. What was she supposed to say exactly? I desperately want a life and a man I can't have. This man could lose everything because of me, and then he'd probably come to resent me for what I am anyway.

Even thinking about saying that was too much. The words were there, tying her throat into knots, but they weren't going anywhere. She didn't have the energy for all the exposition, all the follow up that would be involved in that story, at least not in that particular moment, not standing in the middle of the market bazaar. And, she was afraid it might hurt Fenris to hear it.

She shrugged again without really knowing why, her shoulders heavy, just like everything else. Fenris' hand brushed her back, but then quickly fell away, an interrupted gesture that he must have thought better of. On top of everything else, came a pang of sympathy for the elf. It seemed it wasn't simply that she had lost Anders and Fenris to each other, but that they had all three of them lost each other, each now isolated and floating, occasionally bumping into each other for a moment or two before drifting away again.

She moved away from the table, grabbing Fenris' arm and tucking her own around it as they made their way on to the next merchant. His eyes were still there, watching. Waiting. She could tell him though. Fenris would keep her secret, and wouldn't judge her. He himself hated magic, yet had fallen willingly into bed with two who wielded it. It might not be the nicest thing to do to someone who was sending lonely, desirous signals, but wasn't sharing what was in her heart better than shutting him out completely? She sighed, pointlessly eying another table full of shit she didn't need, and then another, and then another. She turned away from the row of tables altogether, and led him clear out of the market bazaar and toward the stairs to a different level of Hightown.

At least he wasn't rattling away in her ear the way Anders used to occasionally. Fenris knew the value of silence, of simply being there. And considering she had no idea what it was that she needed beyond an entirely new existence in a different city, silence was the best she could ask for.

She knew where they were going. They were going wander through Hightown all the way to the Docks, and eventually, probably Anders clinic. Anders had said he had things to take care of, but she figured at the very least they could make plans to go to the bone pit tomorrow. Get him his blighted drakestone, so he didn't feel the need to seek her out and ask about it again. If it would be good for him, if there was any chance this potion of his would help bring back the kind, funny man who used to be her friend, then she wanted him to have it.

"Have you given any more thought to leaving town?" Fenris asked eventually. The truth was she hadn't really thought about it at all, despite all the wishing she'd done for her and Cullen to exist elsewhere. But as the words echoed in her ear, she began to run through the possibilities. Get out, get away from blood mages and Templars, from beautiful Knight-Captains and insane Knight-Commanders, from apostate exes who had weird requests and who let themselves in without waiting for her to come to the door.

"Where would we go?" she asked.

"Well camping in the wilderness isn't glamorous, but there is a peace to be found out there," he said. "Countless stars in the sky, the wind in the trees, no one else around. And it smells better than Kirkwall."

"Hm." She could see herself doing that for a time. She hadn't camped under the stars since… since she and her family fled Lothering. She could bring Brutus. The poor mabari would probably love some time out in the wilds.

"We could visit Starkhaven. Or any of the smaller coastal towns," he continued.

"You wouldn't exactly blend in. And I wouldn't have the same pull there that I do here, to keep us safe." She was watching the cracked stone beneath their feet as they moved, descending staircases and passing familiar doors. She was wishing she hadn't worn the mage robe that had the exposed shoulders. Her bared skin was smarting slightly at the chill in the air.

"We have coin. Money talks."

"Money might make us a target," she said, thinking that the last thing they needed was to be robbed and stranded some where far from home.

"We have never had a problem handling ourselves before. There are worse characters to be found in Kirkwall than the petty criminals wandering the small, poorer towns. We've already gone up against most of the worse ones, and won." His case was strong enough. Not that she was in a mindset to need excessive convincing.

"I am… seeing the appeal," she said.

Perhaps distance from Cullen, from Kirkwall, from the ledge, from a bed filled with so many memories of failed loves… perhaps that would help her sort out what she needed to do.

She suddenly felt a desire for the ledge. For solitude, for the soothing water. For the boundless space to think. Fenris was correct in that there was peace to be found in the wild places. The ledge wasn't exactly wild, but it was the closest thing she had in this rotting city. They could make their way to Anders later on, maybe entice him out for a pint in order to make their plans. Surely he needed to get out of his clinic. It might be nice to try to draw that old Anders out for a change, or see if such a thing was even possible any more.

"Is there any chance I could leave you off at the Hanged Man? I'll meet up with you again in a little bit. I just need to… walk around by myself for a little bit."

She flashed him a quick smile, seeing the intense spotlight of concern, and she quickly looked away. Those damned eyes of his. If she didn't get away, she'd end up sitting with him in the Hanged Man and getting drunk, likely telling him every last thing there was to know. Though, that probably wouldn't be so terribly bad. It might even be exactly what she needed to do.

As she stood there, she made a decision. She would go to the ledge, and see if she could find any clarity on her own. If she didn't she'd return to Fenris and tell him. Tell him everything, as sensitively as she could manage, and ask his advice.

He nodded sadly and they continued walking. When they passed the door of the Hanged Man he stopped and waited for her to speak.

"I won't be long," she said. "I'm just… going through some stuff. I need to…"

"I understand, Hawke." He gave her hand a quick squeeze and then slipped out of her grasp, disappearing behind the door and into the noise of the tavern. She sighed and continued on, making her way toward the stairs to the Docks.

The stairwell was long, the entrance to the compound on the left and slowly getting closer and closer with every step. The two guards at the gate stood at full attention, their posture unusually rigid. Normally the two stationed there spoke to each other, spoke to those who passed by. As she got closer to the entrance, the hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end. There was a hush across the whole area, the pathway unusually still and deserted except for for the two stiff guards. As she passed the entrance, she saw exactly why.

Meredith. Her bright blue eyes and cascade of blond hair did nothing to soften her severity as she stalked back in forth in front of a row of Templars. Centered within the row was Cullen, his eyes landing upon Avery almost immediately and just as quickly dropping away. It was enough to catch Meredith's attention, and her head turned, her icy stare skewering Avery where she stood. She appeared to be reprimanding the Templars, including Cullen. Avery prickled with anger as she watched the woman. She was so many things wrapped up in her fierce little package: the source of so much of Kirkwall's conflict, the terror that threatened Cullen, the intruder who broke up families and ordered homes invaded and ransacked. The judge, jury and executioner, oppressing mages, grabbing power and overstepping her bounds at every turn.

Adrenaline rose in her blood and she was taking the steps into the compound before she'd had the chance to think better of it. She flashed the two guards at the gate a look that apparently had them reconsidering whatever warning they were preparing to give her. Cullen watched her warily, and she made a point of not looking at him.

Meredith turned and crossed her arms over her chest, looking at Avery with a cold curiosity.

"Champion. Your presence was not requested here," Meredith said.

"So then pretend I'm not here." Avery said, giving Meredith a flippant shrug.

Meredith continued to stare at her, the ice of her eyes somehow growing harder. The compound was silent despite the dozens of bodies, and Avery tempered her anger into a calm simmer, leaning casually back onto a stone wall. It wouldn't do to be overly aggressive to start. Meredith gave a derisive snort.

"Well. Since the Champion has graced us with her attentions perhaps she might like to weigh in on this matter," Meredith continued, turning back to the Templars. Cullen stayed still, his back straight, his face serene, a perfectly neutral subordinate. "Surely she shares my concern about commanding officers disappearing in the night."

Cullen's eyes flicked over to Avery the moment Meredith turned away, training her glacial gaze back on her. "Do you not, Champion?"

It took her a moment for the words to sink in, followed by an icewater flood of fear.

"To what are you referring?" Avery asked, succeeding somehow in keeping her voice steady.

"There was an incident in the night, and when the guards went to summon our Knight-Captain, they discovered he was not in his tent. I have yet to get to the part about why he left his post, but I am sure you are just as interested in the answer as I am. Surely you do not want rogue Templar leaders roaming Kirkwall."

Avery saw white for a moment, the sounds of the world dying as they were drowned out by the buzz of fear in her ears. This, this was exactly what she had not wanted to happen. To think that it might come to a head so soon, after they'd only just begun. But apparently Cullen hadn't spoken for himself on the matter yet. Maybe, she thought, just maybe there was a way she could salvage the situation for him. She balled her hands into fists to stifle the trembling that had emerged, but the shakes only rippled outward. Her mind raced. She needed a story for him, something to adequately explain his absence.

"Do you mean besides the dozens that already wander freely, abusing and harassing Kirkwall's law abiding citizens?" Avery asked, taking a deep, calming breath and then let out a little laugh. "What's one more?"

Meredith raised an eyebrow in annoyance.

"Besides, I can answer that charge for you. He was with me," Avery continued. And there it was. The words were out. It was begun. Meredith narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. She saw Cullen's head turn sharply, but did not glance at him. She must not lose her nerve now.

"I came to the Knight-Captain last night and enlisted his help, asking that he not notify the other Templars."

"Help with what exactly, Champion?" Meredith demanded.

Her heart was pounding hard. She had one chance to get this lie right, and not stumble and flail about like she had with Anders.

"An… apostate friend of mine needed to be subdued. I sought a Templar in case I had need of their silencing abilities," she continued.

Meredith resumed her slow pacing, taking deliberate, heavy steps as she studied Avery with a raptorial focus. Avery threw her shoulders back, refusing to look intimidated. She'd never let Meredith ruffle her before, and had no intention of starting now.

"And? Were you successful? There were no new admissions into the Circle during the night, so I assume you continue to aid this apostate. In direct defiance of chantry law, may I remind you."

Avery let her mind race, cataloging all options and trying to settle upon the most realistic. She'd already invented an entirely false person that could not be presented, which, in the brief moment of hindsight she had, was probably not the best course of action. But it was all she'd had time to think of, and it was too late now. She figured her best bet was to keep the details as simple as possible.

"I intended to allow Cullen to bring her in to the Circle, hopefully under her own volition. But she… fled. I think she might have had a way out of the city."

Finally she chanced a look toward Cullen. He was watching her warily out the corner of his eye, but his face betrayed nothing.

"This apostate is maleficarum?" asked Meredith, as she continued her slow pacing.

Avery hesitated. It would look better for her if she was actively trying to stifle the blood mage threat somehow, however Cullen would have had no choice but to kill her on site rather than take her to the Circle. Avery sighed, hoping the line of questioning might be satisfied soon.

"Suspected. I wasn't sure."

Meredith was quiet. "Why would you, an apostate yourself, deign to bring another to the Circle? You've been less than cooperative with the Order in the past. This seems… uncharacteristic of you."

"Knight-Commander you do not know me well enough to know what is or isn't characteristic of me. I have never supported the use of blood magic, under any circumstances. If I have the opportunity to dissaude a mage from resorting to it, I would consider it my duty to try." That part at least was true.

The Knight-Commander continued to silently pace, working her way down the line of Templars and turning back. Avery's cheeks were hot and she had to make an effort not to grind her teeth and tap her foot as she waited. Waited for any indication that Meredith saw right through her flimsy lie, or for Cullen be called upon to support her story. The seconds ticked past slowly and the rush of her heartbeat got louder in her ears. A Templar at the back of the compound cleared his throat. Metal clinked softly as soldiers shifted their weight.

"Well," Meredith continued finally, her mouth curling into the slightest hint of a smile. "It so happens that I have a team of Templars about to embark upon a similar task. A cave of apostates, remnants of the underground from my understanding, have been located in the Vimmarks. Perhaps you would like to join the team and see if you can prevent _them_ from doing anything foolish. With your assistance, some of them might even make it back to Kirkwall alive." Meredith paused, training her gaze back on Avery. "And perhaps this hideout is where your… _friend_ was headed as well."

Avery frowned. Another cave full of mage escapees, most of whom would probably try to kill her the moment they saw she was accompanying Templars. She didn't really have a choice in the matter, not if she was being given the chance to potentially save some lives.

"Will the Templars follow my instruction? If I needed to approach the mages alone first, this team of yours would obey my orders to hang back?"

"They will be told to follow your lead. I shall send the Knight-Captain along to ensure full cooperation."

"Knight-Commander?" Cullen interrupted.

"Knight-Captain, your post will be waiting for you upon your return. If you'd like to avoid babysitting detail in the future you'll be sure to at least notify a second in command of your whereabouts from here forward."

"Yes ser."

"Both of you have two hours to be ready for departure. I'll instruct the other Templars to meet you here. If you move quickly you might make it back by tomorrow night."

It was easy enough for her to ignore Cullen as they walked. She just did her best to lump him in with the other Templars, their jangling metal bodies casting her derisive looks, their hushed conversations coming in indecipherable sussurations, likely about her at least some of the time. She thought she felt Cullen's eyes on her too, but hoped he was smarter than that. While the three Templars who accompanied them didn't know enough to watch them closely, it wouldn't take much to rouse their suspicions after learning that she and Cullen had been together in the night. Ignoring Cullen wasn't exactly what she wanted to do, but it was by far the least distressing option. Looking at him, trying to pretend to make normal, impersonal small talk would only push her heart past its bursting point.

The little showdown with Meredith had only caused that logical voice in her brain to get louder as it called for an end to their… whatever it was. They still hadn't said the L word, though Avery had been feeling it. They'd spoken nothing of any possibility of a future together, not that there was much they could realistically discuss about that. Technically they still existed in some grey, in-between space. It was true that there were feelings, strong feelings. There were impassioned words uttered in the heat of their lovemaking that continued to echo in her mind and warm her from the inside out. But nothing had actually been professed or defined, other than that they wanted each other. Ending it, if or when she ever mustered up the strength to truly do so, seemed more and more inevitable.

She'd dressed warmly, expecting that climbing into the foothills of the Vimmarks would only expose her to more cold, and she hoped that Cullen had the foresight to layer on some insulation under his armor. They had a day or two of this and had to keep up appearances to the best of their ability, and she knew she'd be hard-pressed not to want to warm him if he'd given any sign of being cold.

She'd allowed the three Templars to lead, following behind with her eyes on the towering peaks of the Vimmarks as they scratched their way through the dry, brown landscape. Cullen brought up the rear, beginning to stay mostly out of sight, to her great relief. She thought idly about the mages they'd meet at their destination and formulated the bones of a plan. She'd approach by herself, with perhaps Cullen close but out of sight in order to lend support in the case of trouble, and she'd do her best to persuade them to come to the Circle, with entreaties about how strong mages would be needed for the rebellion. In the best case scenario, they would listen. They would recognize the opportunity to do their duty for mages, even if that required allowing themselves to be held in the circle for several weeks, or maybe months. The rebellion could only happen if there were enough mages left to stand against a city full of Templars. At the current rate that mages were turning to blood magic and then being killed, there'd be almost no one left to stand against the Templars at all, which, of course, was exactly what the Templars wanted.

It slowly dawned on her that she herself was a bit of a hypocrite for considering leaving town with Fenris at the height of the problems. She'd still done little for her people since that talk with Anders, at least beyond making herself more visible. She still wasn't sure to what extent she wanted to be in the middle of everything, but surely joining the Templars on an apostate hunt and then disappearing wasn't going to do her reputation among mages any favors.

She pushed the thoughts out of her head. The fact was that she had no blighted idea what she really wanted to do, what role she wanted to take in the whole mages vs. Templars issue. Maybe meeting up with these other mages, speaking to them, might give her some direction. Maybe she simply needed to spend more time with her own kind, rather than sneaking away to consort with a Templar at every opportunity.

As if reading her mind, a hand brushed the small of her back. The three Templars ahead of them were walking along quietly, backs turned to her, either fully focused on the path ahead, or lost within their own thoughts. Their hushed conversation had died and the five of them had spent the last hour in almost complete silence. She turned to cast a glance back at Cullen and found his wary brown eyes looking at her with a questioning concern. She looked away quickly, watching the rocky path beneath her boots, aware that she probably continued to appear as troubled as she felt. Cullen's hand slid within hers for the briefest of moments, giving a quick, warm squeeze. She grasped him back habitually, running the pad of her thumb along his calloused fingers. And then his hand was gone again, her skin where he'd touched continuing to sing with the memory. She gave a sad little smile. Ignore him as she might, he was there. He saw her. Though his quiet little act of kindness only fired up that familiar ache for him. She let her head hang as they walked, giving up on any pretense that she was feeling anything other than saddened and overburdened.

They'd had to make camp once the sun began to set. She attempted a little bit of smalltalk with the three Templars but dropped it when they only eyed her suspiciously and answered her questions in sharp, clipped tones. She sat with her pack after making the fire and looked at up the stars as she pulled out the portion of bread and meats she'd brought. Hidden within her pack were her daggers, brought along just in case. If the Templars turned against her somewhere along the way, at least she wouldn't be completely without defenses.

She thought of camping with Fenris. Of peaceful nights under the moon, quiet days filled with new scenery. Quick jaunts into new towns. Perhaps they could make their way to the beach and camp beside the Waking Sea. There'd be no troublesome Templars to muddle her feelings. Yes, she could certainly see the appeal, however hypocritical an idea it might have been. She sighed. Why was every blood problem in Kirkwall _her_ problem?

"The cave is only about two hours walk from here, so we should reach them in the morning," the Templar named Ser Roger said to no one in particular. Cullen sat several feet away while the other men set out their bedrolls, joking and nudging each other in hushed tones. Avery watched them quietly as she ate.

The day had been a string of failures and surprises. She'd yet to have an opportunity to talk to Cullen about anything that had happened, including whatever the incident at the compound had been. She'd never made it to Anders' clinic and she knew he'd be greatly disappointed, if not outright angry, that they were going to have to delay the trip to the bone pit again. Not to mention the fact that it was being put off so that she could go gallivanting around with Templars in order to recapture escaped mages. Anders might write her off completely once he learned that little detail. She'd never made it to the ledge for a little quiet time. After leaving the compound she made a quick stop to the Hanged Man to tell Fenris she'd be gone for a few days after all, and then sprinted home to pack her gear. Fenris of course wanted to come along, and for several long minutes she considered letting him. She also considered asking Varric. But in the end, decided that the last thing she needed was two more sets of eyes, and eyes that knew her well, observing her and Cullen during the trip. It was already going to be a challenge on its own, simply to be so close to Cullen without the ability to reach out and touch him. Any additional risk of tipping off the other Templars, such as the whispered suspicions of her own friends, just seemed like more than she wanted to deal with. It was foolish perhaps. She was completely outnumbered by Templars. The lone mage, protected only by her reputation within the city they were no longer even in. And, if it came to it, by Cullen.

Darkness fell, and everyone settled down to sleep around the flickering fire. As her head hit her makeshift pillow, her eyes fell upon Cullen, lying quietly in his bedroll several feet away. The dancing flames of the fire glinted across his dark eyes and she had that internal jolt, that visceral flood of wanting that electrified her body and made her lips ache for his. She flashed him a sad little smile and then turned away from him. Not looking at him, not getting lost in the concerned warmth of his eyes, was probably the only way she'd be able to get any sleep, the only way she could calm her emotional and physical reaction to his presence.

Though it still didn't fully do the trick. He was so close, yet so far away, but even with her back turned she could feel him behind her. All she wanted to do was climb into his blankets and rest her head against him, and forget about the myriad of troubling thoughts that had her chest feeling like it was encased in lead. Surely he had to know that they'd come too close to discovery for things to stay the same now. Surely he'd been just as afraid as she was when he stood in front of Meredith getting called out for his disappearance. He certainly wouldn't be able to slip away as easily in the night now.

The fire had died completely and the camp was filled with the gutteral sounds of three Templars snoring when she heard the quiet scrape of movement on the ground and then a light brush of wind beside her. She knew instinctively that it was him, and she was instantly fully awake. It was the last thing he should be doing of course, but she couldn't help but welcome it, despite her better judgment, despite the protestations of that nagging voice in the back of her mind. In the dark a warm hand found hers, pulling her arm until a pair of soft lips pressed against the sensitive inner skin of her wrist. He was lying on the ground beside her, having relocated his bedroll so that his head was only inches away. She heard the soft breeze of his breathing, could feel the warmth radiating off him. Her desire to kiss him overpowered all her thoughts about how they shouldn't, how they needed to end it now, and instead she turned to him, her hand reaching up to slide against the stubble of his jaw. Her lips found his, kissing him gently and soundlessly and everything within her seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Just touching him felt like a balm for her soul. An irony of the cruelest kind, considering it was her wanting of him that was exactly what was causing so much pain.

She hovered over him, nuzzling gently against his neck and brushing her lips against his, relishing every moment of contact. After several seconds of breathing him in, of feeling that beloved, familiar smell warm her, she settled back down beside him. He turned to rest his forehead lightly against hers, their noses brushing gently and he just laid there. Close, so close, blessedly filling her senses. His hand clasped hers again, pulling it onto the firm swell of his chest and laying it directly over his heart. He held it there, his broad palm covering the bulk of her hand, his fingers threaded and resting between hers. The slow, powerful pounding of the organ beneath his muscle reverberated into her. It was calming in a way she could barely comprehend. The even, pulsating rhythm, was as steady and true as the man to whom it belonged. His eyelashes whispered against her cheek as he blinked in the dark, and he took in a quick breath which sounded as though he was about to speak. But nothing came.

He loosened his grip, his fingers gliding up her arm and brushing through tendrils of her hair so lightly it sent shivers down her spine. She kept her palm pressed against the beating lullaby in his chest, holding it there while they rested quietly together, feeling the force of his life as it thumped, strong and real against her hand.

She was drifting back to sleep when he slipped out of her grasp again and returned to his spot on the other side of camp.


	12. Chapter 12

Avery woke with a sore neck and a cramp in her lower back. She sat up, groaning and trying to rub the aches away, looking instinctively over to where she knew Cullen had slept. There he sat, watching her slowly wake, his hair adorably disheveled and his linen tunic open at the top, providing a peek at the golden skin beneath. She flashed him a tired simper and watched him out the corner of her eye as she waited for the fog to clear out of her brain.

"So… it turns out that you're not a _totally_ shit liar," he said with a smirk as he pulled on a boot.

She snorted groggily. An involuntary smile began to creep across her face, until she remembered that there were supposed to be other Templars about. She glanced around the campsite but saw only unfurled bedrolls, open packs and armor pieces strewn around the firepit.

"They went to, uh, attend to the call of nature," he explained. "Put your boots on, we'll take our turn when they get back."

She nodded as she rubbed at her neck, calling up a glow of healing energy to help ease away the cramping. She located her boots and clumsily thrust her feet within them, feeling strangely like they must have grown three sizes in the night. She couldn't remember waking much, besides when Cullen had come to her, but yet she felt as though she'd barely slept at all, her brain aching almost like she was hungover. Despite the grogginess, she smiled to herself at the memory of Cullen, quietly offering his company and affection in the middle of the night, after such a long, strange, disheartening day.

"Thank you, by the way," he said softly.

She snorted again, "I should be thanking _you_."

"Why?" he laughed softly.

"Because… you're you… Just perfect and… bloody wonderful."

He laughed quietly. "Well. I don't know what to say to that. But… I _am_ going to need you to follow me when the others get back. So I can give you a proper good morning," His smirk spread wider, his amber eyes glinting mischievously. "But pretend like you're not… Obviously."

Avery cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks begin to burn

"As you wish, Knight-Captain." She finally dragged her eyes away from his and frowned at the mess she'd distractedly made of her boot laces.

"How did you sleep?"she asked.

"Well enough I suppose. Did I wake you at all? Besides… the once?"

She shook her head.

"Well that's fortunate. I'm never really sure if I'm making noise," he said. "When I was still in the barracks the other men had no problem letting me know when I was being a nuisance. But now I mostly sleep alone so… I don't really know how bad it gets anymore."

"During the nightmares, you mean?" she asked. He nodded and stood, arching his back in a lazy stretch. His light breeches were snug against the curves of his hips and Avery felt a flush race over her body, suddenly making the whole camp feel several degrees warmer. If they were in her bedroom she'd be pulling those breeches right off him. Actually, if they were in her bedroom he wouldn't have been wearing them in the first place. And she would happily be gracing that perfect bottom with another series of lovebites.

But he probably wouldn't be coming back to her bedroom anytime soon. She sighed sadly, the heaviness of the day before beginning to creep back over her, slowing her movements and sinking her mood. She dropped her laces and looked up at him again, openly taking in every detail of him while she had the chance to do so. His smirk fell away completely, replaced by the same expression of concern he'd worn the whole previous evening. She tried to ignore the familiar pangs of sorrow and unabashedly drank him in, taking in all the familiar, beloved details. His adam's apple rising and falling as he swallowed, the way his sultry top lip curved in a way that demanded that she taste it. The way his eyes could contain more shades of brown than she even knew existed, and the way they could be so quiet and calm while still saying so much. His frown grew deeper as he watched her watch him, seeming to effortlessly read everything she was feeling.

She heard the soft rustling of the other Templars making their way through nearby bushes and looked away, continuing lacing up her boots. They'd chosen to camp in a partially sheltered spot, a rare patch of clear, level ground nestled against a cluster of tall rocks. Around them the ground was a rising slope, peppered with thick brush and spindly pines. The approaching men seemed looser, more relaxed than the day before, their laughter carrying easily through the brisk mountain air. She finished with her boots and stood, readjusting her robe and throwing a loose coat over top. She combed her fingers through her hair and took a deep drink of water from her canteen.

"My turn," Cullen said casually as one by one the men reentered camp. She glanced briefly at Cullen as he departed and then turned and nodded a greeting to the other men.

"Good morning Champion," Ser Roger said pleasantly.

"Good morning," she smiled. He was the only one of the three who'd seemed to have any interest in speaking to her, even just to be polite. "If you'll excuse me, I need to step out for a few minutes too."

Cullen was a good distance out, having traveled up the mountain slope and stopped to linger beside another tall crop of black rocks. As soon as he sighted her he disappeared behind them, and she picked up her pace, trudging sleepily up the steepening slope. Her heart was thudding in her ears as she climbed, looking around to be sure that there was no chance they'd be seen. But the camp was completely hidden and the murmurs of the Templar's conversation faded out of earshot entirely.

She'd barely rounded the corner when Cullen swept her up in his arms, lifting her off the ground and carrying her the last few steps to set her down on a rocky ledge. He slid his body between her knees and ran his hands up her thighs until they came to rest on the small of her back.

She couldn't have avoided kissing him even if she wanted to. The moment his lips were within range she was magnetized to them, drawn inexorably to those enticing, pillowy curves. She gripped at the roots of his hair and kissed him soundly, wanting desperately to devour his beautiful mouth. Her back arched toward him as he slid in closer, her legs fitting tightly around his hips, feeling the sharp jut of his hip bones press into her thighs. A heavy hand dragged up her torso, gliding over her breast and cupping her cheek to slow her and pull the kiss to a gentle end.

He had that concerned look in his eye as he pulled back slightly and studied her face.

"I'm pretty sure I know what's wrong, but I want you to tell me anyway. Please," he said softly.

She hesitated for a moment, feeling like she'd been struck dumb. It wasn't that there wasn't anything to say, it was that there was too much to say and she had no idea where to begin.

"It's… I…" she paused and took a deep breath. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to sort through the jumble of thoughts, her resolve waylaid entirely by the heady effect of his closeness. She considered sliding off the ledge and putting a little bit of distance between them, wondering if that might help clear up the intoxicating fog of his touch.

"Cullen, I can't… I just really can't stand the thought that us being together could harm you. That was such a close call yesterday… if anything happened to you…. If we got caught, really, truly caught…."

He nodded, his eyes falling. "I know." She noticed for the first time the little wrinkle he got between his brows when he frowned. It was so perfect it made her ache.

"How could this possibly last? What future could we have?"

He was quiet for a long minute. She ran her hands along his chest and grasped his sides to pull him in closer.

"But at the same time… the thought of losing you… absolutely fucking _kills_ me," she cried, pressing her mouth onto his again, delving her tongue deep into his mouth, determined to taste every inch of it while squeezing back the sting of tears behind her eyes. He whimpered slightly at the force of her kiss, his fingers digging into her waist as he urged her forward, crushing her against him. He pulled back and trained his eyes sharply on hers.

"Avery. I need to say…." he gasped. He kissed her hard again while she nodded and then pulled his mouth away just enough, his lips hovering over hers, brushing, breathing into her mouth.

"Say it," she panted

"I… it's the L word. I do, I… am in love with…" Another forceful kiss, his hand gripping the root of her hair hard so hard it stung. She opened herself up, her body flooded with the need to be consumed by him.

"Again," she demanded. He lifted the skirt of her robe and slid his other hand up her bare thigh, slipping under her smalls and gripping her buttock hard enough to bruise.

"I fucking love you. And I am not letting you go," he growled, the words liquefying her resolve, instantly leaving her raw and eager to agree to anything he demanded.

"Okay," she sighed, feeling delirious as his mouth roamed down her neck, covering her skin in hot, open mouth kisses.

"Okay?"

"Yes Cullen," she breathed. She had the vague ghost of a thought that it wasn't fair, that she could deny him nothing when he was kissing her like that. How could she possibly be expected to stick to any decision of parting from him when he was so close, so perfect, so… _him_.

"But…" she gasped, trying to find the thread of a thought.

"No buts," he breathed.

"No… Cullen," she gasped as his teeth gripped the neckline of her robe and pulled on it, "you can't get hurt! If Meredith tries to lay a finger on you, you fucking kill her! Or let me do it," she said quickly, getting all the words out just in time for his mouth to swallow hers up again. She heard a ripping sound, and realized that the hand under her robes had torn away one side of her smalls. He lifted her slightly as his hand slid down the crease of her buttocks, reaching all the way under to the slick folds of her sex. She gasped as two fingertips eased slowly inside, her body reacting powerfully, pushing her forward into an arch as she desperately sought more. She pressed herself against the heaving wall of his chest while his mouth pulled away again and hovered, lips parted, caressing gently over hers.

"We don't have time Cullen… we have to get back…"

"I know," he said, taking a deep shaky breath and steeling his body in his attempt to slow down. "I know."

He calmed himself more with each breath and began withdrawing his hand, backing up as he brought her ripped smalls down the length of her legs. His lips curled slightly as he stuffed them into the pocket of his breeches.

"I'm keeping these," he whispered and then came in for another gentle kiss. His amber eyes met hers and looked deeply into her. "And I'm keeping you. Unless you really want to end this right now. But I don't believe that's true…"

"It isn't, dear Maker… that's the problem," she gasped breathlessly, " I don't ever want to…. I want you every minute of every single day. I want you first thing in the morning and all night, and tomorrow and the next day and next week and… but I can't. We can't." She didn't notice the tears streaming from her eyes until he reached up to wipe them away. "How could this possibly work? You're the Knight-Captain of a whole bloody order of Templars, and, like it or not, I am a mage." She stopped, taking a quick sip of mana and conjuring up a ball of flame in her hand.

"Look, Cullen. Look." she demanded as she made the ball grow larger, tendrils of flame crackling and striking out. He watched the fire undulate in her hand, the light flickering and warming his face. But he didn't flinch, didn't move away.

"Mage," she said again, insistently.

She closed her hand to extinguish the fire. "And there's about to be an all-out war, and Meredith will kill you if she finds out about us, and probably me too and… how? How could this possibly work?" Her hand on his chest landed over his heart again, this time the precious thumping was coming faster and harder.

"I don't know," he sighed. His brown eyes deepened further, bottomless, restless pools of liquid umber that pulled her under and made her want to drown.

In the distance came a sharp whistle. The Templars were probably anxious to get moving, especially if they were to have any hope of making it back to Kirkwall by evening. She slid off the ledge and into his arms, digging her face into his chest.

"I don't know, but I'm not ready to give this up yet Avery. Not yet," he said, his voice breaking. She squeezed him tighter, inhaling a deep breath of him, and then looked up into his somber face. Did he honestly not care about all the risks? The little crease between his brows appeared again and it was all she could do not to kiss it. "All those things… you're right, of course you're right. But… I can't give you up. I don't want to. Not yet."

She sighed, feeling more hot streams down her cheeks, "I don't want to either, but we're gonna have to."

"Perhaps," he whispered. "But not today. Not yet."

She shook her head. Not yet. It should be soon, if she had any sense, if he had any sense, before she could get him into more trouble. Before she got them both killed. But the thought that this might be their last kiss, the last time she was in his arms… she'd rather get swallowed into the ground. She'd rather end up in a noose in the Gallows. She just didn't want him to end up there. She shook her head again. "Not yet."

"No?" His voice was painfully hopeful.

"No. Not today."

"Okay," he sighed, sounding so relieved she could do nothing other than dig her face into his shoulder and wish she actually could physically melt into his chest. "Okay. Thank the Maker."

"I love you too Cullen," she whispered, finally saying the words she'd been biting back for days. He groaned and dropped his head against hers, letting it rest there for several long seconds. He inhaled deeply and then pulled back, tilting her chin up to wipe her cheeks. She sniffled, blinking out the rest of the tears and and trying to breathe away the choked up sobs still squeezing at her throat. She at least had to look presentable before she could return to camp.

"Let me go back first. Give me a minute or two," he said as he kissed her temple and smoothed back her hair.

She nodded again.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked gently.

"No," she laughed. "Not even remotely. Are you?"

He shook his head. "No."

They stopped within view of the cave and observed quietly. She saw no movement, no shadows crossing beyond the entrance, but the ground leading in was worn down into a distinct path, indicating the cave had been in heavy use.

When Ser Roger notified her that they were getting close, she explained her plan and they all accepted it without protestation. Cullen would find a spot adjacent to the entrance and listen in case she had need of his assistance, while the others would hide somewhere out of sight but within earshot. She walked calmly toward the cave, feeling the eerie whispers of the veil around her as it stretched and pulsated. There had to have been a great deal of magic used within this cave over the years to leave such a strong, noticeable imprint. The Templars had not been able to tell her how many mages to expect, or whether any of them had demonstrated use of blood magic. She'd bitten back her frustration with the lack of information, trying to simply shrug it off. Hopefully she wasn't walking into a viper's pit. She'd have to just do her best and hope, just hope to the Maker that those dwelling within could be persuaded to see some sense.

Deep within the cave flickered the orange glow of a fire, but no bodies could be seen around it. Though the cave stretched far back, the walls were close and the ceiling low. She hoped Cullen would have no need to come rushing to the rescue. Even she felt a little uneasy at the prospect of squeezing through such a narrow passage.

"Hello?" she called quietly into the cave. She felt the buzz of magic growing, as the mages within prepared their spells at the sound of her voice. "It's okay," she called. "Fellow mage here."

She brought up another ball of flame to illuminate the long entrance, and hopefully let them see from the distance that she was one of them. Her hand that held the fire trembled with a growing anxiety. In the several steps it took to get through the narrowest section she'd finally begun to wonder if she was doing something incredibly stupid. As she breached the inner sanctum of the cave, a glowing blue orb lit up in a distant corner, dimly illuminating two bodies within. In the middle of the room was a firepit built into the floor, situated under a dark shaft that opened deep into the ceiling. She flared her own fire ball righter, to add to the light and get a better look, but aside from the two cowering within their barrier, there was no one else to be seen. Just a quiet darkness and the hum of magic. There were tables and book shelves arranged around the perimeter of the cave, and a number of iron pots and pans stacked neatly next to a water basin.

"Hello," she said again as she turned to approach the glowing barrier orb.

"What do you want?" a female voice called. It sounded young. Very young.

"To talk," she said softly. She extinguished her fire and grabbed a wooden chair, pulling it to the closest table and sitting patiently. "Is it just the two of you here?"

"Do you see anyone else?" asked the girl.

Avery shrugged. "I don't know how far back this thing goes, or if there are any hidden passages or… whatever. Caves have those sorts of things, right?"

They were quiet, casting wary glances to each other. They looked to be in their early teens, too young to even have been put through the Harrowing yet.

"So you don't know Petra? Or any of the others?" the boy asked cautiously.

"No, I don't. Sorry. Were there many others?"

"There was like… six of them, including Petra, my older sister. They left four days ago and were supposed to be back a few hours later, but… they never came back," said the boy. The girl was looking at him sternly, trying to shush him. "And we ran out of food yesterday. Do you… do you have anything to eat in that pack?"

Avery nodded as she pulled her pack off and began digging through the contents. She located the bundle of cheese and nuts, still tied up in its cloth and set it on the table. "It's all yours," she boy took several eager steps forward while the girl grasped his arm and tried to hold him into place. A whispered argument ensued and finally he broke free, practically sprinting to the table to shove a handful of nuts in his mouth.

"What are your names?" Avery asked.

"I'm Jorah, that's Sadie," he mumbled.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Avery. Most people call me Hawke." she said. She saw no indication that the boy recognized her name, but he was completely focused on the food.

"Hawke?" Sadie spoke up. "People in the Circle used to talk about a Hawke sometimes."

"Yeah, that was probably me," she said. "I get around a bit. Or I used to anyway."

Jorah split off a chunk of cheese and took a handful of nuts and handed them to Sadie, then returned to drop heavily into the wooden chair on the other side of the table.

"So… you plan to just stay holed up in here until your sister gets back?" Avery asked.

"She wants to," he said, nodding his head toward Sadie. "I don't want to stay here anymore. We have nothing eat, we're almost out of water…"

"And we don't have anywhere else to go," Sadie cut in.

"No one's coming back for us Sadie! Petra wouldn't have left me here, after everything she went through to get us out of the Circle! Something happened to her. She'd dead or captured. If we stay here we're going to starve."

"We can learn to hunt," Sadie insisted.

"With what? Your fire? Are you just going to cook the animals alive?" he snorted. "While they're running away from you?"

"If I have to!"

Avery listened quietly, feeling a deep pang of sympathy. At least she wouldn't feel too guilty about taking these kids back to the Circle. It seemed better than leaving them there to suffer and die slowly.

"I'll be honest with you guys," Avery sighed eventually, figuring there was less argument for them to leave than there was for them to stay. "The Templars know you're here. There's a few of them waiting outside the cave right now to escort you back to the Circle. It sounds like the best option for you anyway. Jorah's right, you'll starve if you just stay here with no food. There at least you'll be fed. And maybe that's where Petra is. Maybe she was recaptured and taken back. Maybe they all were. The Templars have known about this cave for the last week at least."

"Yes, let's go," Jorah said quickly.

"No!" Sadie countered. "You know why I had to get out of there Jorah!"

"So maybe he won't be there any more. Or maybe you could just tell on him," he hissed

"I _did_ tell! They didn't care!"

"And you would rather stay here and starve?" he demanded. "And what if Petra is there?"

"Then you go. I'll stay here by myself. Maybe someone else will come…" she said, her voice growing thin.

"Once the other mages know the Templars have found this place, they're unlikely to come back, Sadie," Avery said gently. "Besides, the Templars out there are already prepared to bring whoever is in this cave back with them. Even if I wanted to leave you here, they wouldn't let me."

"So, what, you're working for the Templars then?" Sadie spat.

"I'm not working for them. I'm here for you, to make sure that they don't hurt you, and that you get back to the Circle safely."

"You have to come Sadie," insisted Jorah. "Please."

"I can get you in to talk with First Enchanter Orsino about this person you're having problems with, if that will help," Avery offered. "Is it a Templar or another mage?"

"Templar," she said angrily.

"If Orsino can't do anything, then I might be able to talk to Meredith for you. Do you mind if I ask what the problem is?"

"He… I.. No, I don't want to talk about it with you. I don't know you," she huffed. "But… I'll talk to the First Enchanter, if that's really possible."

Avery breathed another deep sigh of relief. She tucked the cloth that had held her food back among her things and began closing her pack.

"Okay. Good. Well we need to leave quickly, so we can try to make it back to Kirkwall tonight. Make sure you pack a bedroll if you have one, just in case we don't make it." Avery said as she stood. "And I'm sure the Templars have more food they'd be willing to share."

The buzz of the protective barrier receded and Jorah and Sadie stepped aside and whispered to each other for several minutes while Avery waited. Eventually Sadie broke away and walked to the other side of the cave to grab a pack, stuffing it with a few pieces of clothing and a bedroll. Jorah stopped to fill a canteen with water from a cask in the corner of the cave, and filled a bucket to dump on the fire. The cave was instantly doused in darkness, with only a sliver of light penetrating through the long, narrow entry way. Avery brought her flame back up, coaxing it higher until she saw that both Sadie and Jorah were standing ready. She took the lead, walking swiftly through the oppressive cave with the two trailing closely behind her.

Cullen stepped out of the woods the second they'd emerged, approaching calmly and flashing Avery a warm smile. His eyes held hers for a beat longer than necessary before flicking away to study the two thin figures that followed. He frowned.

"This is all of them?" he asked.

"Yep, two kids," she sighed. "Left alone and starving."

"I'm not a kid," Jorah grumbled.

"Really? How old are you then?" Cullen asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

"We're fifteen," he answered defiantly. "Teenagers, yes. Kids, no."

Cullen snorted.

"Well. My mistake," Avery laughed..

"Do you have anything in your pack they can eat?" she asked Cullen. He pulled his pack down and began rifling through his things at the same time that she heard the bushes rustling again with the sound of the other Templars approaching. Sadie was a thin, pretty girl with short red hair and a smattering of freckles across her upturned nose. She watched with wide blue eyes as Cullen dug through his things. Dark haired Jorah bounced impatiently beside her, clearly eager for more food. Neither of them had much meat on their bones. Starving wouldn't have taken long. Avery smiled warmly at them, hoping she could reassure them somewhat that everything would be okay.

"I have these oatcakes… they're a little dry, but…"

"No. No no no…" Sadie began to mutter, interrupting Cullen. Avery looked over to her in surprise and saw that the short, red-haired girl was shrinking back, her face somehow even paler than it already was. Before Avery had time to process what she was looking at, Sadie turned and sprinted back within the depths of the cave.

"There she is," came a deep, male voice from behind them. "Where you goin' love!?" the voice called. She turned to look at the three Templars approaching and saw the one at the front watching the mouth of the cave with a hint of a grin, while the other two looked at him in confusion. He'd been easily the rudest of the three that Avery had dealt with, tall and thick with dark hair peppered with gray at the temples. He was unnecessarily short the few times she'd made the mistake of asking him a question.

Avery glared at him as he approached. He met her eyes with a snarl and sent out a pulse of silencing, catching up Avery and Jorah. She instantly felt emptied, like someone had bored a hole into her and let all her contents drain out.

"What was that for?" she demanded angrily.

Cullen stood up sharply and glared at the man. "Stand down Bennet," he warned. The man came to a stop and gave Cullen a grudging nod.

"I thought you didn't know who was in the cave?" Cullen asked.

"Did I say that? No one was sure who we'd find here. But I've been looking for that girl for a while."

Jorah turned and hurried back into the cave, and Avery followed without waiting to hear the rest of the conversation. Sadie was pacing anxiously, surrounded again by her glowing protective orb, while a bright white glow beamed from her staff.

"I'm not going with him," she said as soon as Jorah and Avery were close enough to see. "You can leave me here. I am not going anywhere if that sicko is coming along."

Avery's mind raced. She could imagine all sorts of horrible, sickening possibilities. Tales of rape, bullying and harassment were common among the residents of the Circle, especially the younger ones who were unable to do much in the way of fighting back.

"Okay, okay. We'll figure something else out Sadie… we'll send him ahead and we will continue on separately, without him. Cullen is the Knight-Captain, and Bennet has to listen to whatever Cullen says."

"Bennet doesn't care what other people say to him!" the girl cried.

"He's not going to hurt you. And as soon as we get back to Kirkwall I will make sure that he never sees the inside of the Circle again, okay?"

"You can't do that!" Sadie sneered.

"I can. I have important friends. And if I can't do it, the Knight-Captain can, I promise."

Hurried steps crunched into the cave and Avery turned expecting to see Cullen, but instead it was Bennet, sending out another pulse of silence.

"Come on sweetheart, don't make me do this the hard way," he said as the cave fell black, Sadie's orb dissipating into still darkness. More steps followed and Avery instinctively tried to conjure up some flame to light the cave, but nothing came. She growled in frustration and put herself between the dark Templar shadow and where the girl had been pacing.

"Did you not hear the Knight-Captain tell you to stand down?" Avery hissed at the man. The other footsteps stopped in the dark, shifting cautiously, with nobody able to see anything.

"My orders come from higher up, _Champion_ ," Bennet said. A set of footsteps charged in the direction of the man's voice and Avery heard the metal shing of a blade being drawn from its sheath.

"Ser Bennet!" Cullen barked, the ground scraping, thumping, sounding off in a chaotic disorder that indicated a struggle.

Out of nowhere, Avery's skin began to prickle, the wisps of the veil stretching around her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard a low drone of ethereal whispers, and the hairs on the back of her neck began to rise, a cold chill crawling over her skin.

"Don't do it Sadie," called Jorah, his voice moving closer until he bumped straight into Avery. Together they turned toward Sadie, seeing the deep black outline of her form begin to twist and change, grow taller and thicker, until bursts of red, angry light flashed from opened veins in her skin, illuminating swaths of the cave in an otherworldly glow. Avery filled with a nauseating dread. " _Shit,_ " she muttered under her breath.

"No!" Jorah called again. From behind her, Ser Roger's voice came, shrill and frightened. "Abomination!" he called. The sounds of struggle stopped for a moment as a roaring rage demon exploded into place where Sadie once stood. Jorah, mid-stride in his advance toward Sadie, took a swift blow from a black tendril of an arm and immediately his body was gone, whisked into the darkness and followed shortly by a sickening thud on the other side of the cave. Ser Roger rushed toward the glowing beast with sword drawn, while rapid shines of two armored bodies wrestled in the background. Avery's stomach fell, adrenaline spiking in her blood and she rushed across the cave, almost falling as she tripped over the hot remnants of the firepit. She searched nervously for Jorah's body in the dim room, taking tentative steps as she swept her hands around her. The red pulsating light shifted and faded unpredictably as the demon fought, but finally she found her way to a still, broken figure.

Jorah's eyes glinted in the rapidly pulsating light, staring vacantly into the darkness above him. Avery knelt down and pressed her fingers to his throat, searching desperately for a pulse, but she knew almost immediately it was too late. There was no movement in his chest, and his head squished revoltingly into the ground, sucking against a pool of dark, sticky blood.

She sighed and slipped off her pack, her trembling fingers fumbling over the drawstrings as she raced to pull it open. Her daggers were found quickly, both of them long enough to run the length of the pack, and sitting tight against the canvas. She unsheathed them both and stood, searching her mind for memories of the moves Isabela had shown her, but hearing only the roaring of her own heart in her ears, the grunting of two men struggling with each other, and the chilling screeches of a demon.

Avery sprinted back toward the fight, seeing a crumbled metal body lying still against the wall of rock and the second Templar who fought the demon beginning to falter, taking blow after blow from the roaring abomination. Her eyes followed the grunts of the two men fighting each other and she watched anxiously. She could not see faces within the tangle of silver bodies, but then a shock of blond hair emerged. She tried to follow the body and keep them straight as they struggled, arms landing heavy blows as they squirmed violently in and out of the red light. Avery circled behind until she was standing at the rear of the fray, looking for a place to plunge a dagger, and seeing only a writhing wall of metal. A hand belonging to the dark haired body flopped out, reaching for a dropped sword and Avery saw no other opening, crouching down to plunge the dagger deep into the flailing hand and twisting the blade until she felt bones crunching.

The cave filled with a horrific, ear shattering scream, and she turned, stunned momentarily by the shattering sound. She'd heard plenty of demons in the streets of Kirkwall, but with the walls of the cave containing and amplifying the sound it was utterly ear-splitting, ringing through her body like a physical blow. When the sound finally faded, the Templar before the creature recovered enough to swing his sword high over his head, rearing up to bring it down full force onto the glowing monster. Before the sword fell, her breath left her completely, jarred from her lungs by a sharp blow to the ribs that sent her careening through the air. She landed on her already burning chest and lay helpless and prostrate on the rocky ground, unable to move or do anything other than gasp painfully for air. But inhaling through the shock was impossible and she wheezed, her abdominals seized and frozen, her lungs searing. Another blow came, and finally she found the strength to roll, looking up into the towering face of Bennet, his body coiled in preparation for another harsh kick. She stiffened, bracing herself for the next landing, still gasping desperately for breath and she squeezed her eyes shut. Instead of another kick, her face was splattered with a warm wetness but still she flinched against the unexpected sensation. She opened her eyes to see his metal body still standing before her, only the place where his head once sat was now empty.

A single set of footsteps scrambled behind the body and Avery was finally able to take a deep breath, filling her lungs with a sweet gulp of air. She rolled again, in time to avoid the heavy crash of the headless body as it hit the ground.

With another fading screech, the red light in the cave finally died away. As quickly as the chaos had begun, everything was suddenly plunged into black silence. She blinked against it, listening frantically for the sounds of movement, and then tried to sit up. A sharp bolt of pain streaked through her, eliciting a cry of pain that echoed loudly throughout the cave.

"Avery?" came a voice in the darkness. The footsteps crunched around her, nudging gently against her leg.

"Cullen..." She rasped. Speaking the words hurt and her hand found the source of her pain, a crackling nest of busted bone in her rib cage. Searching hands flew up her legs and grasped one of hers. Even in the dark, her body surging with adrenaline and fear, the soft touch and broad, calloused hands were unmistakable. She cried out as he helped her to her feet, and she urged him over to her good side before she braced herself against him. Together they limped weakly toward the entrance of the cave.

She winced against the light as they emerged, the peace of the mountainside seeming almost inappropriate compared to the death and chaos they'd just escaped. One of Cullen's eyes was bloodied and purple, and a stream of red dripped from his nose. They collapsed under a tree and Cullen's eyes grew wide and frantic as he looked her over.

"Where are you hurt?"he asked, his voice coming out raw and raspy. She saw a purple ring of blotches around his neck, where he'd apparently had hands choking him. She seethed with rage, wishing Bennet was still alive so she could go back and end him again, but slowly. But she knew it'd be a failure. Every little movement of her body elicited sharp stabs of pain from her shattered ribs. Without her magic, she was helpless.

"My ribs," she squeaked out, another searing jolt sounding through her as she spoke.

"Can you heal it?" he asked.

She shook her head, "silenced, remember?"

"Andraste's ass!" he growled. He reached out and wiped her face, stroking gently along her cheek and forehead. His hand came away blotted with red. She heaved, remembering the splatter of Bennet's blood after the swipe of the sword that had removed his head.

She worriedly inspected the pulpy mass of damaged flesh around Cullen's eye. He'd taken several really good hits to the face. She felt the adrenaline in her veins turn to ice.

"That bastard! What did he do to that girl!?" she wheezed, each word and breath sending sharp bolts of pain through her ribs. "And why did he fight you like that?"

"After the girl turned, he was just trying to get to you…" he panted. "I kept pulling him away."

"He said his orders came from above you…"

"Yeah, I caught that too."

"Fucking Meredith…" she growled, her words turning into a cry.

Cullen began unbuckling pieces of his armor, piling up shards of bloodied metal beside him. Gently he eased her closer, turning her around tenderly and settling her back against his chest as he leaned against the trunk of the tree. She squirmed and groaned against the pain, but his arms corralled her in on both sides, allowing her to fully relax her torso and relieve the pull of her muscles on her ribs.

"Stay still and rest until the silencing wears off, love," he breathed into her ear. "We're okay. We're going to be okay."

"It's just us left?"

"I think so. I didn't see what happened to the boy. When you are restored we can go back in and check."

"The boy is gone. I checked him already," she said. She let her head fall heavily against his shoulder, rolling toward him to nestle against his neck. He nuzzled his face into her hair, and she closed her eyes, trying to calm her body and scrub away the blurry images of violence that resonated in her mind. As the tension seeped out of her wounded muscles the intensity of her sorrow for the kids took over. Abandoned, starving and then "rescued" by an abuser. If only the girl hadn't turned, hadn't taken on the demon. She'd ended her own life the instant she made that decision. Maybe things might have gone differently if they all could have worked together to subdue Bennet, instead of having their forces split by the need to fight a demon.

She sighed sadly, and then winced, feeling defeated and angry and exhausted.

It took an hour before the trickles of mana began to drip back in, settling warmly under her skin like a familiar friend. She'd been laying against Cullen in a post-traumatic daze, neither of them speaking. She was mourning for the kids, mourning for the two innocent Templars and worrying over Bennet's orders. It would have been nothing for Meredith to tell him to simply take her out too in the case of a fight. As two people on opposite sides of an incendiary issue, at least as far as Meredith knew, some might consider it foolish not to seize any opportunity to eliminate an opponent.

She repaired her ribs to the best of her ability, but it took several long attempts to reconnect bone and reweave flesh and tissue. Finally she could take a deep breath without pain and she stretched her back as she drank in the dry mountain air. Cullen's face and neck healed easily enough and once the purple faded away completely she finished the task with a gentle kiss, and then grasped his chest, thankful that they'd both made it, that he'd been there to take care of Bennet and finish off the demon, that she wouldn't be returning back to Kirkwall alone. And she stood finally, preparing to reenter the cave, the thought of returning to Kirkwall weighing heavy on her mind.

She brought her ball of fire into the cave and stood sadly over the crumpled bodies, closing Jorah's eyes and saying a quiet prayer over each of them. The cask of water was about a third of the way full, and she wearily dragged it out into the daylight, where she and Cullen set about scrubbing the blood splatter off their skin and clothing. When they were done, after food and other useful items were removed from the Templar's packs, they both stood looking down the slope of the mountain. Cullen laced his fingers through hers and squeezed, pulling her gently along as he began to make his way back through the woods.

Each step back toward Kirkwall was a chore, even with Cullen leading the way. She was desperate to get away from the carnage behind them, but desperate to avoid their ultimate destination. Meredith, more Templars, and having to tell people what happened in the cave… all of it made her want to curl into a ball and disappear. This, all of this, was exactly the sort of thing she was tired of, exactly the sorts of things that no one should be dealing with.

"Nothing that happened back there was your fault," Cullen said eventually. "You did good."

She nodded. Squeezing out the image of that poor girl's frightened face the moment Bennet appeared. And the way he spoke to her… clearly enjoying toying with her… She could only imagine what the girl had endured in the Circle. What many girls endured in the Circle. What numerous girls might have been enduring in the Circle that very moment. It sent nauseous shivers down her spine.

But on the same token, there were Templars like Cullen. Templars who were noble and good, and who would fight for the underdogs and for what was right.

The girl probably wouldn't have passed her Harrowing. She probably would have ended up Tranquil, or killed.

Avery shook it all out of her head. Mourning was appropriate, of course, but Cullen was right. She had done her best. They were saving probably countless girls at the Circle from further torment at the hands of Bennet, and Sadie… Sadie had made her own decision. A decision made out of genuine terror, but that cost three other lives, including her own friend. That was on her, not Avery or Cullen.

But still. It was deeply troubling.

Eventually, once she'd ran through each line of logic over how there was nothing within their control they could have done differently to change the outcome, the conversation she'd had with Cullen that morning came crashing back.

Not yet, he'd said. I fucking love you, he'd said. She suddenly felt so relieved that they hadn't ended things that she almost stopped mid-stride and sank to her knees to weep. And yet there they were, each step carrying them closer and closer to their old lives, to the cage of the city that kept them hidden and separate, that made their being together impossible.

"Wait," she said and halted her steps. His arm jerked taut as her hand pulled on his."Wait."

He turned and closed the distance toward her, his concerned eyes searching her face. "What's wrong?" he asked softly.

"What if… what if we don't go back?" she asked shakily.

His brow furrowed as he considered her words.

"It's just us. Maybe… maybe we weren't able to hurry back. Maybe there were… complications. No, there _were_ complications," she said. "There were injuries, deaths and we were slowed down and…and maybe we just don't go back to Kirkwall? At least not tonight."

She saw the words sink in, the sparking of possibility in his eyes, driving out the melancholy that had permeated since departing the cave.

"When will we get this chance again?" she asked.


	13. Chapter 13

ETA: It's been brought to my attention that Templars take lyrium every 3 weeks, not every day. I looked for this info while writing it and found only fan speculation, nothing that seemed official, so I just winged it. So if this is true, then oops. Sorry for the discrepancy!

* * *

Avery froze in place as her eye was caught by an irregular cluster of shapes, spiking out of the hazy horizon.  
"Is that a town?" she asked. "Over there? Do you see it?"  
Cullen squinted down the slope of the mountain and squeezed her hand. "There are houses there at the very least. It is tough to tell from here."  
"If it is… that would mean an Inn, with a bed and possibly a bath…" she sighed longingly. An hour and a half of walking, plus finding numerous remaining spots of sticky, dried blood still dotting her skin made the idea irresistable.

The sun had only just hit its zenith in the sky, and Avery could hardly believe it was only noon. It was so difficult to think that the death of five people had come in the space of mere minutes, that Sadie and Jorah had woken up only hours before, expecting that they'd have a somewhat normal day… a long, hungry day perhaps, but surely not a day involving that caliber of violence. Certainly not death and demon possession. Then again, that was the very threat that most mages lived under in recent months. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the shadowy figures fighting in the dark of the cave, felt the squishing of Jorah's head against the ground, and splatter of blood on her face. But she also felt a new urgency, a revived recognition that lives could end in the blink of an eye. Cullen's life, her life could be snuffed out any moment, and with so much left unsaid and undone. What if she had died before she told him that she loved him? What if he was to live on beyond her, without knowing for certain how much their time together had meant?

The bruised spot within her stomach blazed bright and sore at the thought. Their time was already so achingly precious, their days cruelly numbered. She had so much left she needed to pack into their remaining moments, if she was to have any chance of letting him go knowing that she'd done and said all that she'd ever wanted to.

It certainly wasn't a new revelation. She herself had killed, and witnessed the deaths, of more people than she could even begin to quantify in her six plus years in Kirkwall. During that time she'd regularly found herself contemplating the fragility of life and the mercurial nature of time. She'd had the same wistful, anxious thoughts during her relationship with Anders, and Fenris, and there'd been many a morning that she'd woke with the question of whether that day would be one of their last. Life could end at any moment, for innumerable reasons, that was a simple fact. The longer she contemplated, crunching quietly through the autumn forest with Cullen's hand warmly surrounding her own, the more her overwhelming sense of grief at the morning's events seemed to fuel her elation that Cullen had chosen her over Kirkwall, at least for the night. Life could end so quickly, but theirs hadn't yet. They still had time.

She watched him walk for several steps, quiet, strong and steadfast; her savior and her lover. He had his head turned down to his feet and the worried crease between his brows was present and unbudging. It only took a moment before his eye was caught and he was observing her in return, his gaze searching thoughtfully for any sign of something he could do for her. He always seemed to consider her before himself, even when that meant endangering his own life and livelihood.

"What do _you_ want to do Cullen?" Avery asked, pulling him to a stop again. A need to touch him more consumed her, her free hand seeking his cheek of its own volition. She brought herself close, brushing lightly against his chest, and felt his hand take its place on her hip. "Should we go to the town, or would you prefer to camp, just the two of us?"  
His lip twitched into an appreciative smile, but it was gone in a blink. She stroked his cheek, the strength of his stubble abrading the pads of her fingers, the protrusion of his cheekbone and jaw beautifully firm under his velvety flesh. Her heart ached at his beauty, and ached even harder at the sight of his troubled frown.

"Because I don't care what we do. We can stop right here if you want. As long as I'm with you, I need nothing more," she whispered. In a breath came a wisp of his beloved scent and her body was suddenly alive again, pushed out of the miasma of mourning and into a charged state of agency. If he needed to be soothed, to be comforted, if he needed anything at all, then she needed to make sure he had it.

"A bath and a bed does sound nice," he whispered, his brow relaxing as he peered into her face. She saw him recognize her concern and she stepped closer, pressing her self against his chest.  
"So does a town where no one knows us. Where we don't have to look over our shoulder every moment we're together," he continued. He raised her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, then took a deep breath. "Maybe we can see what it's like to… not have to keep each other a secret. At least for a little while."  
She smiled giddily, despite herself.

"That does sound nice," she agreed. Her hand left his cheek, sliding around the back his neck and threading through his hair. Her fingers caught in some sticky tangles, more dried blood-splatter, and she tried to gingerly comb her way through them. His mouth found hers in an instant, his lips fusing to hers as though they belonged there, sliding effortlessly into their home within hers. Her body awakened further, an insistent throbbing making itself known between her legs, but she breathed through it. They could dally in the forest all day, making love on the cold carpet of pine needles, or they could see if the cluster in the distance was a town, and a chance to explore a brief alternate life as a normal couple. The answer to her prayers, however fleeting it might be.  
They hadn't even arrived, and already she was wishing they'd never had to leave.

Their steps quickened, gravity aiding their swiftness over earth and stone. Cullen's hand hadn't left hers for a moment, and his grip only tightened as the jutting figures revealed themselves to be exactly what they were hoping. Not just a town, a rather large town.  
"Is this on the map?" she asked. "Have we traveled farther than we thought?"  
"I don't recall seeing a town on the map this close. But I am not familiar with the Marches outside of Kirkwall. We might have wandered a bit more than we meant to."  
They paused at the end of the treeline and looked breathlessly at the line of wooden structures, and each other. There were people milling about. Avery thought she could see the tables of a market several blocks within. It was no city like Kirkwall, but appeared to be at least as big, if not bigger than Lothering.

"I suppose we should go in just looking like regular people, if we are not to attract undue attention," Cullen said and immediately began working at the clasps of his armor. Avery opened her pack and searched out the breeches and tunic that she'd brought on a whim, happy to have need of it. She found her extra pair of smalls sitting on the bottom of her pack and smiled to herself as she remembered Cullen ripping her other pair off of her early that morning. Followed by those unexpected and exciting words. _I am keeping these. And I am keeping you._ Cullen noticed the small, satin garment in her hand and his lips curled into a smirk.

"You don't really need those, do you?"  
Avery laughed. "Why? Would these meet the same fate as my others?"  
"Probably. If you're okay with that, then by all means…"  
"And what exactly will you be doing with my ripped smalls anyway, Knight-Captain?" she asked.  
"Oh just… thinking of you. When I'm alone." His golden eyes flashed dark as his lips curled further. "Is that okay?"  
Avery felt heat traveling up her chest, burning its way into her cheeks. "It is," she said with a suppressed grin.  
"Do you think of me when you're alone?" he asked.  
"Yes," she breathed, feeling her craving for him fire up again. "Constantly. I'm thinking of you right now."  
His armor dropped heavy to the ground and a strong arm wrapped around her waist, jerking her body forward to crash against his. His hips settled quickly into the cradle of hers, a thick firmness growing fast and insistent against her.  
"Is that so?" he asked in a low, feline purr.  
"It is." His fingers found the buttons on the back of her robe, working them open with a quick efficiency. The cool air felt brisk against the increasingly warm surface of her flushed skin, and she felt the hairs on her body rise, her nipples contracting tightly below the thick velvet of her robe. He slid one hand into the opening at her back, probing the bare skin beneath with an agonizingly slow and deliberate touch. She groaned quietly as he kneaded at her muscles, teasing away pockets of soreness she hadn't even been aware of. Another groan was squelched by his mouth as he claimed her lips in a languorous kiss. Without breaking away, he took a step into her, using his body to push hers back, one step, two steps, until she came to rest against the trunk of a tree. Awareness of the cold, of the rough bark of the tree, of the distant sounds of people all dissipated away as Cullen's body breached the confines of her own. She wanted nothing else, only his skin, his mouth, the deep timbre of his voice as it moaned softly and vibrated through her. She sighed, losing herself in the spell of his presence.

Until his mouth moved to her throat, and the memory of the blood spatter pierced its way back into her consciousness.  
"Cullen," she breathed as she tried to squirm away from his mouth. "I think… a bath… before we get too carried away. I've still got blood on me… so do you."  
He halted his advance toward her throat and brought his face back to hers, nodding faintly as he panted through parted lips. His body remained plastered hard against her, his straining cock seeking entrance even through the barriers of clothing. She groaned again… twice now she had to call them both back from the edge of lustful oblivion, when her body too wanted nothing more than to be joined with his. It was excruciating having to temper her desire, and even as she said the words her hands continued to wander the torturously enticing hills and plains of his body.

"Let us hurry then. I need to have you," he panted. A large hand cupped her jaw as his turbulent eyes clamped onto hers.  
She nodded obediently, eager to do whatever he needed, eager to be filled by him again.  
"Cullen…" she said, her throat suddenly feeling dry. But the words needed to be said. It was beyond her control. "I love you so," she whispered. "So, so much." The tension in his body eased away, his arms growing slack and heavy. His belly and chest joined his hips in resting fully against her. He was soft and firm and every swelling inhale he took pressed into her so sweetly, every beat of his heart resounding through his ribcage and into her own. She felt absorbed, encompassed. But it wasn't even close to being enough. She wanted so much all at once, to be held, to be claimed unmistakably as his under the view of countless new eyes. But she also wanted him alone, naked and trembling under her touch.  
"Avery, my love," he whispered, his dark eyes falling tender and filling with adoration. As with so many moments they'd had, she tried to preserve the image in her mind, store it away for those dark nights to come. He loved her, wholly and truly. She could see it plain on his face. She could feel it in the way he was holding her, in the soft, lingering caresses of his hands.

"I…" he started, and then looked down sadly. "I want more than anything to stay out here with you. I'd run away with you forever if I could. I swear it. But I can't. You must know that," he whispered. "It would only hurt us both more to have to bring this up later. So you must know now, we have to go into this knowing that we must return to Kirkwall soon, no matter what."  
She said nothing, her throat closed up by the falling of her heart. Of course she knew, but she didn't want to hear it. Not now, not when the promise of a taste of normal life was so imminent.

"It's… I was only given enough lyrium for the three of us Templars to last two days, and we all already took yesterday's dose. There is no extra, probably to ensure our quick return," he continued. "And as I have told you before, the dose I am on right now is much higher than what is normal…. I'm afraid withdrawal effects will come quickly and brutally. I have no desire for you to see me lose my mind. And I don't expect some unknown town in the mountains to have much in the way of a lyrium supply."  
Avery softened immediately, her heart growing even heavier. She hadn't even considered the reality of his lyrium leash, the inescapable tether that bound him physically and psychologically to the Order. She nodded, gripping his waist even more tightly. "Damn," she sighed.  
"I'm sorry," he whispered. She moved in to suckle his bottom lip, tasting its sweet, perfect lusciousness, tracing her tongue along the metallic tasting inner flesh.  
"So… you have what, three days?" she asked.  
He nodded. "After today's, yes. And we'll need at least half of that for the trip home."  
"And you have not had your dose for today?"  
"I have not. I should probably take it now, before we go in," he said. She nodded and pulled away, the warmth of his touch disappearing and leaving her cold. She took several steps back and picked up her change of clothes, discarding her smalls back into her pack and pulling her breeches on beneath the skirt of her robe. He sat on the ground and removed a small wooden box, placing it before him, slipping momentarily into some kind of ritualistic trance. Even before it was opened she could feel the song of the lyrium within, rippling through the veil and seeking contact with the Fade. He opened the box reverently, revealing a large flask of lyrium, and four empty vials. He removed the stopper on the flask and carefully filled an empty vial. After a deep breath, he threw back the contents, his face twisting briefly into a peculiar combination of relief and a cringe. She gasped when he filled it a second time, downing that as quickly as the first. A dose that large would have been enough to completely restore her own considerable well of mana twice over.

"Does Elthina know how much lyrium Meredith is making you take?" she asked quietly.  
"I don't know. But it is barely enough to handle the blood mage presence on some days without getting depleted ourselves," he said as he wiped out the vial and replaced it, gently closing up the box.

Avery glowered, feeling the energy within him change almost imperceptibly. If she hadn't been there to witness the dosage, she might not have noticed. The inner rhythms of his energy intensified and palpitated, stretching outward in an aura of unmistakable power.  
"So… how long would it take for the withdrawal effects?" she asked.  
"At this dose… a couple days. They'd start slow at first, and by a week I'd be at risk of madness and worse. I… already deal with enough of that sort of thing as it is."  
"Madness?'  
"Of a sort. Nothing I can't handle… usually." She felt her frown deepen into a sneer.  
"The nightmares and... other things. They'd only get worse."

He stood and began layering his armor deep into his pack. Avery watched limply, suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge to hit something. She didn't know whom to be more angry at: the Order and Meredith for using a vicious addiction to control their soldiers, or the blood mages whose increasing numbers and depravity drove them to need such a high dosage. She turned away from him and watched the town again, trying to calm herself. She focused on the gaps between structures that teamed with townsfolk, the distant shadows of their bodies colliding and separating, silhouettes merging and ripping apart as form passed form, over and over again. A dance she knew all too well. She and Cullen played out the same dance, coming together, occupying the other as a single unit for a brief moment in time, only to be ripped apart and sent in opposite directions. She fumed silently as she watched, hearing him continue his packing beside her. Even if he wanted to leave, even if they wanted to right all the unfairness in their situation, he was stuck, as irrevocably a Templar as she was a wielder of magic. They could leave the trappings of their lives and come together only temporarily, regardless of the risks they were willing to take, before they had no choice but to return to the reality of what they were.

The buzz she initially thought was Cullen's lyrium grew around her, filling her ears and vibrating the sockets of her eyes, until a heavy hand landed on her shoulder, pulling her sharply back into focus.  
Cullen stood silent beside her, his hand squeezing gently.  
"You're getting upset, love," he whispered. "Is it because of me?"  
She shook her head. "No, it's not you."  
It's Meredith and mages and Kirkwall and lyrium and every bloody thing in her life that she couldn't control.  
"Are you ready?" she asked as she took a steadying breath. His hand slid down to grasp hers again. She unhooked her staff from her pack and let it fall to the ground. Cullen raised a concerned eyebrow, his eyes watching her warily.  
"I don't need it. And I don't want it." She pulled him along toward the buzzing hive of the town. If three days was all they had to pretend to be normal people, living a normal life, then they'd better get started.


	14. Chapter 14

As their nervous steps carried them closer to the town, the reason for all the activity in the streets became clearer. Paper banners hung between houses and the distant trill of stringed instruments trickled through the waves of celebratory voices. Deep within the town center, trees were draped in red, orange and gold and a crowd gathered around a small procession of costumed dancers who waved fluttery lengths of ribbon high into the air. Avery felt her mouth drop open in wonderment, each advancing step seeming to bring her deeper into some sort of surreal, autumnal fantasy world.

"It looks like a Harvest Festival. We used to have these in Honnleath," Cullen said. His hand dropped hers and came up to rest comfortably upon her shoulders, squeezing her against his body. Avery happily let herself be drawn close, thrilling at the knowledge that there would be no hiding or sneaking around in this place.

"Perfect," Avery sighed, "hopefully we can just disappear into the festivities and no one will ask us too many questions." She hoped. Maker how she hoped. The last thing they needed was for this to come back and bite them in the ass somehow. "But do you think we should use our real names?"

Cullen thought quietly for a moment as they came to a stop at an arch in a wooden fence that seem to indicate the official entrance to the town. "I don't see why not," he said. "I don't know anyone outside of Kirkwall. You don't don't either. We can give false names to the Innkeeper though, just so no one has us on paper."

Avery nodded absentmindedly, her attention increasingly drawn by the idyllic scene before them. They wandered in at a leisurely pace, Cullen's desire for them to hurry apparently forgotten. Three blocks into the town and they came to a square that abutted a small, grassy park. On one side was a plaza that contained a row of market tables, and on the other was the elegant facade of the town chantry, its spire rising to a sharp point that towered over the expansive town center.

"This place is adorable," she said, feeling utterly charmed. "If it had cheeks, I would want to squeeze them."

Children ran gleefully down the streets around them while parents strolled calmly behind, munching on snacks pulled from small paper bags. A small quartet of musicians was set up in the park, next to the dancers. Cullen glanced down at Avery, his face relaxed and eyes bright. He leaned in for a kiss, their first kiss as an outed couple, and she melted joyfully into him, savoring the softness of his pillowy lips against hers. She let her hand slide up his lean torso as his arm over her shoulders grew heavier, claiming her possessively for all to see. She smiled against his lips, linking her free fingers into his as they slowly explored the jubilant streets of the town.

When they stopped at a bare expanse of park to listen to the instrumentalists play, the siren song of his warm scent was almost too much to bear, requiring a substantial effort not to nuzzle fully into his neck and let her hands roam to inappropriate places. She tried to satisfy that nagging urge to consume him by leaning in close, breathing the warmth off his skin, feasting her eyes over the delectable curve of his jaw, the perfect slope of his nose and brow. The dark circles under his eyes were almost gone and his skin had a healthy, golden glow. It was so rare to see him look so content and loose, and the effect on his mood seemed to come so quickly, as though they both truly had stepped into another world.

His eyes flicking down amusedly to hers, "Something on my face again?"

She laughed, "no, it's not that. It's… you just suddenly look… happy," she said. He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck with his free arm, his cheeks flushing almost imperceptibly.

"Well, this reminds me of home. It's nice. I haven't seen a Harvest Festival since before I joined the Order," he said, a twinge of sadness visible in his eyes, "And we're together. That makes me happy."

Avery sank even deeper against him, luxuriating in the solid warmth of his body. She had a sudden urge to kick off her boots and feel the grass between her toes. But the breeze in the air told her the grass would probably be cold, and her boot had a tall row of tediously worked laces.

"It's a shame you're going to be too occupied to enjoy much of the celebration," he said with a sly smirk.

She laughed again, feeling looser herself by the moment, "Oh? Is that so?"

"It is. If these are our last nights together I intend to make the most of every minute."

"Right," she said, her momentary joy abruptly eclipsed by the ever-present cloud of gloom, "our last nights."

The hand on her shoulder massaged gently and tried to slip down her arm but was stopped by the bulky pack still attached to her. She shrugged the pack off completely, letting it come to rest at her feet. Cullen did the same and stepped behind her, sliding both his arms around her waist and pulling her back into the cradle of his body. His chin rested on her shoulder, his nose gently blowing a rush of air past her ear, tickling loose strands of hair around her face. She closed her eyes and savored the sensation of being held.

"They will be our last nights though, won't they?" he whispered, "You probably won't want to… continue to take undue risks once we are back in Kirkwall."

The gloom grew rapidly, threating to swallow her up in its heavy darkness. She struggled to inhale, suddenly feeling like she couldn't breathe.

She opened her mouth to answer but couldn't seem to push any words out. It would be the right thing to do, the _smart_ thing to do. The thing that would allow them both to live their lives with less fear. And it was going to happen anyway. If it happened on its own, the cost would simply be too high.

"Is this all on me then? You're willing to jeopardize your whole career, your _life_ , and maybe mine too, to continue our secret? Is this a decision on my shoulders alone?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

He was quiet, his head dropping to rest against hers.

"No," he whispered. "No of course not. I am… I am just having a hard time looking past what's in my heart. This is the first time I have ever loved anyone like this… I have had crushes before, and infatuations, but this… with you, it's so different… I just can't even fathom…" His face pressed hard into the nook of her shoulder, "I don't want to…"

She squeezed her arms over his, bracing herself against him, trying not to crumple up into a despondent pile on the ground.

"But we should. You're right. I won't risk your safety… and I've worked too long and too hard to throw everything in my life away. If this is how it has to be…" he continued. "I hate it, but…"

"Look, let's not think about this here… if that's okay? We have so little time left to just enjoy each other. We can talk about it on the walk home or something but I… I just can't bear thinking about this right now. I can't bear the thought that…" her throat was suddenly seized by a sob, tears appearing instantly at the cusp of her eyes. She inexplicably found herself on the precipice of a wild panic, her stomach heaving and roiling. She struggled to press it down, to choke back the desire to give in to despair, her trembling hands flying up to press on her brow. She swallowed hard, blinking frantically to keep the tears out of her eyes.

"Hey," he whispered, squeezing tighter and turning her around to face him, pulling her close, "Okay, we don't have to talk about it. I'm sorry my love. I'm sorry." He kissed her gently and tenderly, sliding his thumb over the apple of her cheek. She pressed her face toward his hand, the weight in her chest reaching a crushing magnitude. She tried to breathe through it, taking deep breath after deep breath, slowly urging herself back away from the edge of an uncontrollable hysteria.

"I don't want to talk about it either. I just want to be here, with you. I'm sorry," he said again, his brown eyes shining wide and worried. She nodded, trying to shake off the feeling that she was drowning, that the air was too thick, too heavy, and tried to instead to forcefully empty her mind. She didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to think about it. If this was all they had, then this was all they had, but she didn't want to, _couldn't bear to_ face that fact now, not until the last possible minute. Not until it was done and over and she was alone again, away from the prying eyes of people who wouldn't possibly understand.

She let her mind go blank as she focused on the physical sensations inundating her, trying to draw herself out of her head and away from the unexpected emotional onslaught. One of Cullen's hands on her cheek, the other resting heavy and warm on her waist. The firm swells of his chest brushing against her as she breathed, the taut muscles that rippled powerfully under her hands. The sweet song of the stringed instruments behind her, the deep, rich cello supporting the beautiful melody of the violins, and punctuated by the joyful voices of nearby revelers. There was laughter, the squeals of children, the breeze whispering through the dry leaves that clung for their last days to the treetops above them. And Cullen's scent, the seawater musk that smelled like love and safety and ecstasy and peace. She let the world outside of her swallow her up, removing her from the turbulent sea of her mind.

It worked, slowly bringing her back to a fragile equilibrium. She nodded again, taking another deep breath.

"Look, we're here, together and it's a beautiful day and I can hold you and kiss you wherever and whenever I want, and this town is adorable and there's music… and I love you," he said, running his hands comfortingly over her back and arms. "No matter what happens, I will still love you."

She sniffled, the tears welling up behind her eyes again. He picked up her hand and brought it to his chest, laying it over the quickened thumping of his heart.

"Do you feel that? It's yours, Avery," he whispered. A hot tear dripped down her cheek and she sniffled again.

"Damn it. That's beautiful, but it isn't helping," she said, laughing softly despite herself. "If you want to make this easier then stop saying such sweet things."

"Okay." He smiled sadly and wiped the tear off her cheek, "How about I just shut up and hold you then?"

She nodded again and melted down into his arms, letting him bear the weight of her body as she slumped forward, dampening his linen tunic with her tear-stained cheeks. "I love you too Cullen," she breathed into his chest.

They lingered through several songs, and Avery eventually turned around to watch the musicians again, her body quickly absorbed back against Cullen's chest. His hands grazed lightly up and down her arm and she rested her head within the nook shoulder, able to turn and find his welcoming lips in a mere second. Slowly she found a sense of peace again, her inner turmoil quieting and giving over incrementally to a simple gratitude. Things could be so much worse. Things could be better too; Jorah and Sadie could still be alive. But she and Cullen could still be back in Kirkwall. She could have been anywhere other than walking past the compound at just the right moment to be able to step in and offer an explanation to Meredith for Cullen's absence. They could have been discovered and brought to an end already, a much harsher and more abrupt end, with no time for goodbyes or last nights, or brief escapes from their life. All things considered, their current location and taste of freedom was no less than an absolute gift.

She sighed, resolving not to let them get too mired down in more sadness just yet. At least not until they are on their way home. Not until they walk through the doors of Kirkwall and have to say a real goodbye.

Eventually, the instrumentalists put down their bows and stood to stretch, apparently taking an intermission. Cullen joined them, arching his back and groaning as he nuzzled into her hair.

"If you don't mind," he began, his voice decisive and clear, "I'd like to visit the market tables for a moment, and then go get ourselves settled in a room. And maybe take that bath."

She nodded, slipping out of his grasp to replace her pack and take another deep breath of the cool, green scented air. He took her hand and led her gently off the grass and toward the market tables, watching her carefully with every step. She cast him a reassuring smile and quietly cursed herself for her outburst. _Try a little harder to keep it together Avery. Don't ruin your last days with hysterics._

They approached the market tables and he led her directly to the Trinketmonger, positioning himself behind her and whispering into her ear. "So. What ring would my wife like to wear as a symbol of our union?"

She looked sharply over to him, surprised and confused. "I beg your pardon?"

"It wouldn't hurt to have a little bit of a back story going for us, would it?" he asked with a gentle smile. "I'm thinking newlyweds, just passing through on the way to… somewhere. Who cares. But at least as newlyweds no one will be surprised by the sounds coming from our room at all hours of the day and night."

Avery laughed and gave a little shrug, "Okay. If you insist."

"I do. The ring is a crucial part of such a story, is it not? So we should spare no expense in getting it right," he nodded toward the table, urging her to look. Avery took in a kaleidoscope of precious gems, overwhelmed by the numerous colorful options. As the offer sunk in she realized clearly that the truth was that she'd be happy with any of them. It wasn't the ring itself that mattered, it was what the ring meant, story or no story. "Would my wife like something jeweled? Maybe something aquamarine to match the crystalline blue of her eyes?" He purred into her ear. She found the aquamarine ring and picked it up. The band was a size too small, and the stone protruded too far out for her comfort. She could just imagine it getting caught on her clothing, tangling up in her hair. Or his hair. She put it back.

"Or maybe something with rubies, to match her gorgeous lips after they've spent an entire night being kissed," he continued and she quickly spotted found the ruby ring. The stone was entirely too large, and would attract all kinds of questions back at Kirkwall. If she was going to to allow Cullen to gift her a ring, she wanted something she'd never have to take off, that wouldn't call attention to itself.

"Or perhaps a simple silver band?" His voice was low and sultry over her shoulder, "Something practical and strong. Especially considering that even the most extravagant jewel here will only pale in comparison to her beauty anyway. It's a little unfair, really." She snorted, sweeping her eyes across the table. Her attention was caught by a flash of a honey brown color in the top corner of the table, likely a piece completely overlooked by most patrons.

"This one," she said decisively as she picked it up. It was a simple silver band, its surface inlaid with a smooth, flat strip of burnished amber. She held it up to his face and compared the ring to his eyes. Not only was the color an almost perfect match, but it glinted with changing shades, running the gamut from a bright gold to a deep umber depending on the angle from which it was viewed. It was perfect.

She moved to slip it onto her finger and his voice came again, sharp and quiet, "Wait. Let me be the one to put it on you. But not here. Do you think it will fit?"

"Yes. I'm certain it should," she answered breathlessly, feeling a growing exhilaration as she held the delicate piece in the palm of her hand. "You need one too."

"I do, don't I? Well I have always been partial to hematite," he continued. "But that has a tendency to break."

"I'm surprised you are partial to jewelry at all Knight-Ca… er, I mean," she smiled, " _husband_." All remnants of her emotional attack was purged from her system now, and all that seemed to remain was a giddy heart swelling with love. His hands lingered warmly on her waist, caressing and kneading into her.

"Well, the Order doesn't approve of such vanities. I will wear this as long as I can though. For you." He pressed a quick kiss behind her ear. He picked a band of two strips of matte metal that were braided together, passing over and under repeatedly, curling around each other throughout the full circle of the ring. "I think I like this one. These could be you and me," he said running his finger lightly along the curving strips. "Two separate pieces, intertwined and joined, exactly as we should be."

Avery's heart fluttered hard against her breastbone, and it was all she could not to throw Cullen to the ground and climb on top of him. She sighed, her cheeks beginning to ache.

After taking their coin, the merchant directed them to their town's nicest Inn several blocks away and Cullen clasped her hand, pulling her along with a deep flash of his amber eyes.

All that was left was a single room, and it happened to be the Inn's largest and most expensive. The Innkeeper, a matronly older woman named Greta, passed them a key with an effusive welcome and a knowing smile in response to the news that they were newlyweds. But Avery was disappointed to learn that the tub was currently in use, and there were two others who had already requested it once it was finished. It should probably be ready around sundown, Greta kindly informed them, if they wanted to enjoy the town's festivities until then.

Cullen and Avery climbed the stairs to the third floor, opening the wooden door to an expansive, well appointed room that boasted a large, canopied bed and a set of double doors that lead to a private balcony overlooking the bustling street below. In front of the fireplace lay a thick, luxurious rug, and in the corner was a table that held a bowl of glistening pears and apples. A porcelain wash basin, a stack of white towels and an oversized cask of water adorned a solid wooden countertop that sat in another corner. The last corner was occupied by an antique standing mirror, its elongated, round surface situated within an ornately carved and polished wooden frame. Avery sighed, dropping her pack and throwing herself down on the soft mattress of the bed. She pressed her face down into the comforter as she listened to Cullen's steps around the room, slipping off his own pack and rustling quietly through his belongings.

Within moments Cullen's hands were sliding heavily up the back of her legs, his body crawling up the bed to stretch out beside her. She turned to face him and found his eyes fixed radiantly on her, the two rings clinking softly together in the cradle of his palm. He reached for her left hand and held it for a moment.

"I wish that these were real," he said quietly.

She swallowed, a lump of lead suddenly present and heavy in her throat. "Aren't they though?"

"Well," he paused a moment and gave a soft laugh. "They aren't imaginary. But you know what I mean."

She nodded, smiling sadly, and he began sliding the amber jewel up the length of her ring finger. "But I do love you. If things were different… if I wasn't bound to the Order…"

Avery braced herself for the end of the sentence, realizing weakly that she couldn't bear to hear it. Instead she pressed forward, absorbing any further attempts to speak with her lips as she felt around his palm for the remaining ring. She broke her kiss and tenderly slid it into place on his hand, lacing her fingers through his and squeezing. He opened his mouth to speak again and she surged forward to take his mouth, sliding her tongue against his and tasting the sweet, immediate urgency of his returned kiss.

She kept her mouth sealed to his through the rising swell of heartache in her chest, pulling him closer and settling her body flush against his, trying to smother out all the flames of painful emotion. She unleashed her hands, searching him hungrily, sliding up the back of his tunic and consuming the smooth heat of his skin, the muscled contours of his shoulders. She raked her nails down his back until they came to the top of his breeches and she burrowed her fingertips beneath his waist band, pushing the obstructive fabric down, seeking out the graceful swells of his buttocks. Cullen shifted, gliding the length of his body up until it was settled fully top of her, his hips sliding into place between her legs as one strong hand cupped the back of her head. It quickly became clear that the fire of arousal that had scorched through them both at earlier points in the day had never fully died, but had only simmered quietly, ready to be rekindled at the faintest spark. Cullen's kisses grew in force and desperation, his hands pawing at her clothes as his hips grinded slowly against hers. His breeches were quickly drawn taut, a solid bulge nestling sweetly against her throbbing sex and she bucked against it, her own dormant desire blooming and igniting, quickly finding itself fully inflamed as she mewled quietly into his mouth.

But she knew there was still the dried blood to consider. She felt it every time she tried to comb her fingers through her own hair, or his. And the hidden spots of splatter pulled on the tiny follicles of her neck, and under the collar of her tunic, raising sharp prickles of discomfort. But since Cullen was making no move to cover her neck with kisses in his usual manner, she tried to put it out of her mind, concentrating only on the searing kiss he was delivering onto her mouth, the soft, skilled lips that were holding her in desperate, euphoric thrall.

Though she realized she could smell it faintly, the metallic tang of death still clinging to their skin. It stalled her desperation enough to let her thoughts break through again, but the insistent need pulsing through their legs demanded to be sated. She had no desire to push him away for the third time that morning. She only wanted to please him, to see him brought to the peak of pleasure, to be as generous with her body as he had been with his own. She realized quietly that there was one spot the blood spatter could not have reached and she put her hands up to his chest, suckling on his tongue and lips, bringing the kiss to a soft closure.

"Stand up," she whispered. He tilted his head in a confusion, but began pulling back, obeying without resistance. He came to a stand beside the bed and she swung her legs over the edge, seeing that the height of the bed was perfect for performing the act in her favorite manner. She quickly began undoing the laces of his breeches as she pressed her face into his crotch, inhaling the slightest waft of the musk of aroused male through the fabric. She nipped gently at the outline of the firm shaft, hastening the movements of her fingers as his tangled gently through her hair.

"You don't have to…" he whispered. She pulled way just long enough to pull his breeches and smalls down his legs, exposing the thick, solid mass that stood proudly out from within its nest of copper curls. In a blink it was in her mouth, pressed as deeply within as she could manage, her tongue swirling lazily over the ridges etched around the solid head and he groaned, his hips bucking forward slightly. She slid one hand between his thighs, snaking it all the way through and then up to cup and squeeze a generous buttock. His groan turned into a quiet whine as she slid her fingertips along the cleft of his buttocks, teasing up and down the warm crease that separated his perfectly round cheeks. She plunged his cock deeply into her mouth, breathing in his erotic musk, letting her throat relax and open, the way she had learned to from Anders' skillfull instruction. Cullen gasped when she pulled away abruptly, and she rolled deliberately over to her back on the bed, letting her head rest just at the edge of the mattress so that she was looking at him from an upside down vantage point.

She grasped his hips with both hands and pulled him back in again, letting her head fall back to make a her mouth and neck into a perfectly aligned channel. She took him in again, her eyes feasting on the round bollocks and firm cheeks that lie tantalizingly behind his engorged shaft. With her hands still clutching the sharp protrusions of his hips, she pulled him deeper than ever, keeping her throat relaxed and loose to stifle her gag reflex, feeling every detail of his perfectly shaped cock with her tongue. She urged him to move within her, trying to guide his thrusts in and out, showing him the depth that she could take, her jaw wide and taut as she eagerly suckled on the satiny skin over his solid thickness.

"Oh Maker…" he sighed, his voice drawn shrill as she brought him fully back into her mouth. "Oh… _fuck_ … Avery…."

The throbbing bundle of nerves between her legs began to sing as he grunted and moaned, the sound of his voice saturated more and more with need. Finally she released his hips, letting him control the speed of his thrusts and he continued along, bucking gently against her lips. His body curled forward as one hand landed heavy on her breast, and then began pulling on her tunic. Her hips squirmed, her clitoris stiff and aching to be touched, and she slid a hand down her belly, reaching for the laces of her own breeches, quickly pulling the flaps loose. He groaned again as his hand pulled her tunic up her body, and then fumbled around in an attempt to remove the band keeping him from the mounds of her breasts. He stopped to try to free her body from the constraints of her clothing, keeping his cock buried to the hilt in her mouth as he worked at the fabric on her torso. She tensed her tongue against the underside of his shaft, suckling forcefully while gyrating and swirling her tongue.

"Oh Maker!" he cried again in response, his roving hands pausing as sensation seized his body. She almost smiled around his cock, reveling in his reaction to her mouth, in the urgency in his voice. Finally her fingers reached her sex, sliding deep circles around the nub of aching, throbbing nerves at the apex of her slit and then her body jerked as a ripping sound pealed through the air and the scraps of her tunic and breastband fluttered off to the side. One broad hand grasped her breast, squeezing and cupping, while the other slid down her stomach to the waist of her breeches and finally he resumed his thrusting into her mouth, each stroke eliciting a desperate, raspy groan from the depths of his throat.

"Fuck, Avery…" he rumbled through heavy breaths. She suckled hard as his hand finally joined hers in her breeches, his fingers probing within the slickness of her folds, curling under to enter her, teasing a long moan from her own throat.

"Maker!" he breathed again as her moan hummed against his shaft. His thrusts picked up speed, sliding evenly in and out of her mouth, saliva trickling down her cheeks as his groans grew in their urgency. His hand left the inner sanctum of her breeches and pushed the fabric down, trying to tear it away from her hips. Not wanting to lose yet more clothing she helped the breeches along, sliding them down to her thighs and exposing the raw, aching cleft of her sex. She let his hand take over for her own, melting back into the realization that his fingers now knew exactly where to press and how to expertly build her up to her own incinerating release. He strummed the strings of her nerves gingerly, hitting just the right notes the way a musician plays his instrument, one long, elegant finger sliding up and down her slit with just enough pressure in the right places, and she couldn't help but buck against his hand, letting loose more of her own moans. The more she moaned, the more he tensed, his cock vibrating into the softness at the back of her mouth. She brought up her newly freed hands, using one to circle and cup the soft flesh of his bollocks, the other to slide up his thighs and explore the voluptuous curves of his cheeks. Her finger, still moistened from her own sex, slid easily into the crease of his buttocks following along the firm bulge of flesh within his perineum, and landing slick and centered right on the bud of his rear. She swirled her finger around it, loosening the taut ring of flesh before breaching gently with just her fingertip, massaging lazy circles as she advanced incrementally into his hot depths.

At the moment of entry, his moans reached a fever pitch and his hands grasped down hard, his fingers at her sex pushing deep into her, palming the entirety of her mound while his other hand pinched the tip of her nipple until a delicious shock of pain pierced down her torso.

"I'm coming love…" he panted as his hips tensed, pausing a moment to allow her to pull away. Avery tightened the suction on his shaft and slid her finger deeper into him, humming low against his cock and turning his moan into a gutteral, urgent yell.

"Fuck! Avery!" he gasped as he emptied into her throat, his cock throbbing and twitching as her mouth was flooded with a hot, salty liquid. She swallowed, sucking it down eagerly, milking every last drop from him as he arched and unleashed, his hips pulsing gently with his release, his fingers digging hard into her flesh as his chest heaved. His voice became a series of uncontrolled sobs, sputtering and gasping, distracting her from her own building climax.

Finally his body uncoiled and he slipped out of her mouth, his hands leaving her slick folds and dragging away as he stopped to gaze down at her with wide, black eyes. He was panting for air, his cheeks flushed and damp, speckled and glistening with sweat.

"Maker's Breath, love," he croaked. "How did you… I've never…" he cleared his throat and smiled languidly as he dropped to his knees, peppering her temples with kisses and caressing through her hair.

"That was…" he paused abruptly, his brows furrowing in disapproval, "wait, you didn't come, did you?"

She shook her head, her fingers trailing back down to her sex. "Not yet," she gasped, filling her lungs with sweet breaths of air. "I can take care of that, though," she offered, unable to keep her pleased grin off her lips. Maker, she would remember the sounds he'd just made until her dying day.

"No you don't!" he cried as he kicked his breeches off over his boots and stepped around to the side of the bed. She sat up on her elbows, watching curiously as he grabbed her hips with a roguish grin, and tugged her body toward the side of the bed, positioning her so that her her hips rested right at the edge.

"I can't believe I haven't tasted you yet," he growled as he pulled her breeches over her boots with a single, swift motion and plunged deeply into the folds of her sex. The stiffened tip of his tongue immediately found the throbbing nub at the same time that his lips formed a tight seal and sucked. Her back arched at the immediate peal of intense sensation and she groaned as he pushed her thighs forward, opening the full length of her to him. His mouth left her nub and traveled downward, his tongue thrusting into her contracting channel, lapping voraciously as soft mewls escaped his own throat.

"You taste so fucking sweet," he gasped as he pushed her thighs forward more, his tongue sliding out of her and traveling further back, finding the sensitive opening between her cheeks and tonguing it eagerly. He slid back up to her apex and groaned hungrily, his voice buzzing against her aching pearl, sounding as though he was savoring a delectable treat.

"Maker!" she gasped at the deft ministrations of his mouth. His tongue swirled around her sizzling sex and then pulled away to bite gently at the flesh of her buttocks. She sighed, groaning, writhing, her body aching and desperate. His tongue found her slit again, sliding back up to her nub as dual fingers simultaneously pressed upon her two ready entrances. The suction on her aching pearl increased, his tongue teasing rivers of growing sensation out of her nerves, flames of need rippling under her skin as his fingers worked slowly deeper, curling and pulsing against the tender places inside her. She wound her fingers into his hair as he began to thrust in and out, drawing out an incinerating buzz of pleasure that built higher and higher, dragging her toward an imminent, mind melting explosion. She bucked into his mouth, following behind the movements of his tongue and his hands, chasing that perfect intensity of friction, and finding it, holding it, guiding it into blissful harmony with her body's hunger.

She looked down between her heaving breasts to see his bright amber eyes staring intently back at her, sparking with a deep, lustful gratification. She held his gaze as she felt the wave of sensation cresting quickly, building high and piling over her head, readying itself to crash down and shake every cell loose from her body. He must have sensed her closeness, heard the climbing note of urgency in her moans as his tongue increased in speed and force, flicking, swirling, pressing and lapping, guiding her into a shuddering inferno. Her vision went white, flooded out by a blinding display of colors as her back arched, her body raging with a delicious climax, her nipples tingling and her inner walls clamping and contracting against his firm, curling fingers. Colors became sounds, sounds became sensations, oozing like honey over the electrified wall of her flesh. She sighed, her ecstasy peaking and stringing her high and frenzied as wave after wave of pleasure shuddered through her. She pressed hard against him as the wave of feeling crashed and slowly began to wane, his suction on her quivering mound turning to kisses, and then a playful nip and tug on her labia.

She lay quietly in recovery as time turned into liquid, and rolled her eyes open in time to see him prowl up her body and pull away the tattered remains of her tunic and breastband. He suckled gently on one tingling nipple and then kissed up her chest before coming to rest beside her, pulling her up onto the bed and wrapping her in the warm bulk of his arms.

Avery sighed contentedly, her body loose and drained, the salt of his seed still clinging to the back of her throat. She opened her eyes to see him watching her face with a grin. She closed them again, nuzzling contentedly against him, her body and heart full to the point of bursting.

She hadn't even realized she was slipping away into sleep until Cullen's body jerked violently beside her. She woke immediately, turning toward him, ready to offer whatever comfort he needed, only to find his eyes already open, blinking away sleep. She pressed her hand into his chest, her eye caught by the flash of amber on her finger and she smiled despite her concern.

"Cullen?" she asked.

"I'm fine, love," he whispered reassuringly. She twisted her body so she could look comfortably up into his face, only for their awkward state of dress to be brought to her attention. She was entirely naked, except for the presence of her knee high boots, while he wore only his boots and his linen tunic. She searched his face for a moment, reassuring herself further that whatever woke him was receding from his thoughts and was heartened to see his lips curl into an amused smile as he observed the remnants of their lustful disarray.

It was still fully light, their nap apparently brief but seemingly restorative. As she eyed the glassy double doors she was sure that any passersby on the street had to have heard them. Especially Cullen, his cries rising to a volume that had probably been audible for blocks.

She snaked a leg through his and pushed herself up to settle upon his chest, resting her chin on the back of her hand as she peered quietly up into his face. He stroked at her hair and caressed her cheek, his hand dropping down to finger her amber band as his smile spread slowly.

"I had no idea that, uh… mouths were capable of that… sort of thing," he said eventually, his eyes glinting. "I mean that was different than just the usual sort of… _that_ …at least that I've ever felt." He stopped, his cheeks flushing pink. "Do you… enjoy doing it?"

She laughed softly. "Absolutely. Anything that makes you come that hard I _definitely_ enjoy." Their boots clacked together as she slid her leg in further, luxuriating in the warm skin of his thighs. "I might have a few other tricks up my sleeve as well…"

He fingered a tendril of her hair, looking beatifically into her face. "Oh do you?"

"Perhaps," she teased, wondering if he might allow her to use her magic. Ever since Anders had taught her his electricity trick, she'd delighted in any opportunity to use it, not that there'd been many since. Only Anders and Fenris, and Anders was so much better at it so she usually left it to him. She'd been nervous about the possibility of using magic to please a Templar, but there were very few boundaries left between them already.

"I don't need any tricks, love. I only need you."

She smiled, nuzzling her nose between into his chest and inhaling deeply before peppering kisses all over the front of his tunic. She slipped her fingers up the bottom of the loose fabric, tracing the defined ridges of his abdomen and curling her fingers around the soft whorls of hair below his navel.

"Well I hope you have an extra one of these, because you ripped the only one I had," she smiled as she tugged lightly on his tunic. "I'm not going to have any clothes left to wear out of the room at this rate."

He laughed quietly. "I do have an extra, but you'll swim in it."

Avery shrugged. "I'll make do. I'm sure it won't be on for long anyway. Maybe you could rip some of your own clothes off for a change."

His smile relaxed as his eyes deepened, growing full and soulful, his lids drooping heavily over vivid amber isises.

"I love you," he purred quietly. Her own smile receded as she plunged into the stormy depths of his eyes, wanting to climb in and soothe every pain within his soul, wanting to wrap herself completely in the essence of him and drown there. She tried to stop her mind from going to the place it instinctively sought in response to the looming absence of him, to resist the dark well of sadness that drew her to it like some sick inverse of a bright flame drawing an insect.

"I love you too."


	15. Chapter 15

This is officially the most smut-heavy fic I've ever written. Some editing on this chapter probably to come as I'm not sure if I'm happy with it, but want to get something up today.

* * *

The only thing that made Avery want to end their dinner was the promise of a freshly filled tub back at the room. He'd held her hand over the table as they ate, lacing and entwining slender, roughened fingers, while gazing warmly at her with flushed cheeks and a semi-permanent grin. Once their plates were cleared he quickly slid a chair to her side of the table and resumed their conversation up close, his warm palm dragging up her thigh, resting heavily for a moment before circling her waist to pull her tight against him.

Their conversation grew decidedly silly as the wine in their bottle diminished; his smile came easier, and beamed more brightly that she'd ever seen. It was almost more than she knew how to take, like trying to stare directly into the sun. For a brief, cynical moment, she couldn't help but think that everything was a little _too_ wonderful. Surely if they could be together every night like this, it wouldn't really be so idyllic. He wouldn't really be as sweet and handsome and charming and as blighted perfect as he was. Every idle thought that tripped from her mouth wouldn't make him laugh as though she were the funniest person in the room. Every flicker of his honeyed eyes wouldn't make her think incessantly about unknown but impossible futures.

She'd thought at the beginning that it must have just been the thrill of their secret that made their their time together so satisfying and…full. But sitting beside him in the mountain-town tavern, there was no secret. And yet it was even better out in the open than it already had been.

Once the sky fell dark and the streets were lit up with festive lanterns, Cullen ordered two more bottles of red to go and tightened his grip on her hand. Part of her wanted to linger in the tavern all night, in order to prolong the strange, delicious normality, but she was also anxious to be rid of their clothes and finally wash the day's grime and blood spatter away. She reluctantly gave up her seat and bid goodnight to their friendly, dark-haired waiter.

"Mrs. Rutherford," Cullen nodded as he held the front door open for her. She stepped through with a humorously dramatic flourish, stopping to wait for him to resume his grip on her hand.

He guided her through the crowded streets back to the Inn, and two blocks away from their destination stopped without warning, turning to catch Avery as she crashed into his chest. Her mouth was immediately covered in his as he kissed her hard and deep, holding onto her as though they were the only people in the world, instead of standing in the middle of a street full of celebratory revelers. She vaguely heard the commotion around them and almost dropped the bottle of red as she enthusiastically threw the full length of her body against his, all propriety stripped away by the wine in her blood and the impending end of their time nagging at the back of her mind.

 _Get as much as you can, while you can,_ she thought. _Even if the whole town sees._

The copper tub and a fresh bar of soap were waiting beside the roaring fire in their room, but the water was tepid at best, having sat there in wait for at least an hour while they talked away the time over dinner. Avery slipped her hand in and called upon her magic, bringing it back up to temperature while Cullen began unlacing his boots. Once the water was warm, Avery could barely get her clothes off fast enough. The oversized tunic she borrowed from Cullen dropped straight off of her in a breezy flutter, and she pushed her breeches along with it, unclothing herself in record time due to the absence of smalls. Her boots were tossed into a corner and finally she stretched, elongating her limbs and muscles like a cat, enjoying Cullen's predatory stare at her naked body while his hands froze in place over his boot, momentarily forgetting their task. She opened another bottle of wine, and lingered before him, relishing his quiet but intense reaction to her brazen nudity. After a long, indulgent gulp of rich wine, she padded quietly toward him, grabbing the back of his tunic with one hand and pulling it over his head. She handed him the bottle and as he drank, she ran her hands down the warm, chiseled length of his torso. His own smile took on a decidedly wicked glint, the looseness present during dinner still evident in the depth of his eyes, the earnestness of his affections. By the time his breeches hit the ground and he began taking handfuls of her flesh, he was erect and visibly throbbing.

"We do actually need to _bathe_ you know," she teased.

"Yes, well, luckily I know how to multi-task," he answered, his grin spreading.

"Oh, is that something they taught you in the Chantry?"

"It was more like… an independent study."

"I see…" she smirked. His head was lowered close, brown eyes sparkling in the firelight, and her senses were filled with the heady glow of him. Warmth radiated from the bare skin of his chest and shoulders, and she felt completely enveloped even though all that actually touched her were his hands, sliding hot and heavy up her torso, cupping the weighty mounds of her breasts.

"Bathing time was the only time we got alone, really. And, well, I _am_ only human…"

Avery laughed, but felt a growing tingle of arousal at the image of him hurriedly, secretly pleasing himself in the Chantry baths.

"Are you sure about that? I'm beginning to think you're a bit more… perhaps you've got some Qunari somewhere in your bloodline?"

Cullen laughed, his smile bright and beaming. "And just why would you think that, love?"

"Well, for starters you're insatiable… which is in no way a complaint. But your body does seem to be able to go almost non-stop, which is not particularly human…"

She smiled and reached down, wrapping her hand around the solid bulk of his manhood, squeezing lightly and getting precisely the reaction she hoped for: a quiet, lurid groan and a gentle buck of his hips.

"Well," he said through deep breaths, "as I mentioned before, I think I'm making up for lost time. And besides, you can claim the credit for some of this." His hips continued to gyrate lightly against the movements of her hand and he stepped closer, bringing his lips tantalizingly close.

"Oh?"

"It's just the effect you have on me, vixen." He grabbed her swiftly and pulled her up against him, her breasts pressing into the firm, sculpted wall of his chest and his mouth came down to hover over hers, lips parted as he breathed slowly and deeply in time with the stroking of her hand. "I can't get enough of you."

Heat crept up her chest, burning its way across her cheeks as she breathed him in, savoring the feel of him, thick and solid in her hands.

His eyes took on a glassy glaze as she seized his mouth with her own, tilting her head and penetrating him deeply with her tongue, tracing the lines of his palate and dancing upon the sharp points of his teeth. His mouth tasted of sweet wine and his tongue mingled eagerly with hers while strong fingers bruised into the flesh of her back as he urged her closer. She sighed, fighting the desire to push him back onto the bed and forget the bath, and instead wrenched away her hold on his mouth and his manhood, and turned to climb gingerly into the tub, groaning as she sank down into the warm, clear water.

It was a long copper basin with the lip on either end rising higher than the center, and was considerably nicer than the one she had at home. She dipped fully under and soaked her face and hair, working her fingers quickly through her tangle of thick locks, and then coming back up to scoot against one end to make room for Cullen. The water level climbed as he lowered himself in, threatening to spill over at any abrupt movement.

"Looks like we're going to have to be careful," she warned as she eyed the precariously high water line.

He raised an eyebrow and shrugged, "I was rather hoping we go could slow anyway, and see just how long we could draw this one out."

She smiled as she slid between Cullen's legs, and he went under next, scrubbing at his face and raking his fingers through his hair, then reappearing with darkened, shaggy blond curls dripping over his ears and face. She handed him the soap and slowly moved closer, her lips finding his again as she saddled herself over him, locating his erection and squeezing gently before guiding it toward her feverish depths, sinking down around him with a jagged breath. His thickness stretched and filled her, settling firmly against that peculiar center of nerves deep within, and she was immediately ready to move, to follow the ecstatic promise of their bodies wherever it needed to go.

Warning herself not to be too hasty, she took a deep breath and draped herself around him, legs circling behind his buttocks, chest to chest and cheek to shoulder, as his arms trailed up and down her back, one arm finding a hold around the crook of her waist, one hand hanging solidly between her shoulder blades, pressing her close against him. She breathed out every ounce of tense energy being hoarded in her muscles, slowly coming to feel as though her flesh was on the cusp of melding entirely with his. He rocked his hips, the head of his cock beginning to stimulate that hidden spot deep within her, stoking a sweet, smoldering heat.

"It's like your body was made for mine," he whispered, his voice full of awe.

She moaned in agreement and rested against him until she began to lose herself, lulled into a deep, comfortable trance by the warm water and the sleepy movements of their bodies. Eventually she wrenched herself back into focus and sat up, not wanting to lose more seconds of their time together to a tired daze. She fixed her attention into his glassy, desire filled eyes and traced fingers along his jaw, admiring the multitude of colors in his irises and struggling to resist the wanton urging of her hips. The water already lapped at the lowest ridge of the tub, streaming small droplets over the edge.

Deciding she needed a distraction from the overeager trappings of her body, she reclaimed the soap, and began sliding it over the taut muscles of his chest and shoulders, building up a delicately scented lather. His skin felt so satiny under the slickness of the soap, her hands sliding easily into every crease and crevice of his glistening chest and neck. His broad pecs and shoulders were knotted with slender scars and the moistened hairs of his chest stuck in dark, wispy curls against his skin. His hips continued to keep a tantalizingly slow pace, his buttocks tensing and flexing while his hands retained their possession of her hips, gradually building upon the pleasurable ache deep within her. She fingered gently along the scars, wishing she could have been there to heal every one of them before they caused him pain, wishing she could always be there to prevent any new ones from forming. Every little hair, every nick, every mole was achingly precious, gilded and unique, distinctive of this man who had bewitched her so completely.

She stayed in sync with him, contracting and arching while massaging her lubricated hands down his impressively rounded arms, kneading bent knuckles into the tense spots in his shoulders and neck, and combing her fingers through his hair, working the soap against his scalp and pulling free all the blood-stuck tangles. He closed his eyes and moaned, though it was unclear whether it was due to the subtle movements of their joined bodies, or from the explorations of her soapy fingers. She couldn't hold back her smile as his eyes closed and his shoulders hung loose, his face relaxed and rapturous under her touch. The desire to cover every inch of him in kisses was almost overwhelming, welling up painfully and squeezing at her heart until she had to blink back stinging, unexpected tears.

Once he was thoroughly lathered she took the bar of soap below the water, pressing it directly onto his submerged skin, circling him fully with her arms to sweep across the lower reaches of his abdomen and back, gliding smoothly over firm thighs and reaching behind her to stroke the hard rocks of his calves and ankles. She stopped to lightly tickle the underside of his feet and he was broken from his semi-conscious spell, opening his eyes in a quick, reactive giggle. He sat up and playfully tightened his arms, his movements coming fast enough to send a splash of water over the edge of the tub.

"Oops," he shrugged.

But once the golden beams of his eyes met hers, his smile fell, his face turning unexpectedly somber.

"Have you loved many others?" he asked quietly. "Is it always like this?"

He took the soap from her hand and began sliding it up her stomach, his second hand following behind as he worked under the creases of her breasts and arms, palming his way over her shoulders and up to the base of her throat. Finding a response under the hypnotic effect of his touch took a moment, requiring that she think hard to string the right words together.

"I've only ever loved two other people," she said finally, "and it was… different. Not like this."

"I suppose everyone survives afterward, once it all ends," he said quietly. "It's not really going to kill me, even though it feels like it will. Right?"

She was quiet, her eyes stinging again.

"Not killing you is supposed to be the whole point," she whispered.

"Then again most people probably have a choice in the ending of these things," he continued. "Or at least one side does, if not both."

She took a deep breath, trying to fight off the urge to weep, bringing her hands back up his chest to slide over the lazy pounding of his powerful heart.

"Usually," she said. "Sometimes survival is all you can hope for."

He nodded as she ran her fingers through his hair again, cupping his head and grinding her hips slowly down into him. A groan sounded low in her throat as her body was reminded of how filled she was, Cullen's thickness pressing tightly at her inner walls, his bollocks brushing against her rear as the movement of their bodies made small, slow underwater waves.

"We will survive, right? You will?"

Avery cleared her throat, her mouth suddenly feeling dry and dysfunctional. She swallowed hard. "We will have to. What choice do we have?"

"Right…" he said quietly, his hand coming up to gently lather soap into her hair.

"Was there no heartbreak involved with your… one? From a long time ago?" She let her hands fall back down to rest on the ripples of his abdomen, feeling the sinewy muscle beneath as it writhed with his movements.

"Not at all. That was merely a fling," he breathed. "Not love."

"But she was your first?"

"Yes, my first."

"How long did it last?" she asked quietly.

"A couple months. She was a fellow Templar. I met her shortly after my transfer to Kirkwall. She was pretty and quite persistent in her pursuit of me," he said as he lathered more soap into his hands. "But I wasn't in a good place for anything real then. And even if I was, I doubt it would have worked. It certainly never felt anything like this."

Her head fell back as deft fingertips worked soap through the wet ropes of her hair, massaging deeply into her temples and behind her ears, sending shivers across her scalp and down her neck. For a moment she stopped the movements of her hips, seized by the tingling waves of sensation cascading down her body.

When her hair was saturated, his hands resumed their traveling over the slick surface of her skin, the callouses of his palms lightly scoring across sensitive flesh, massaging over her shoulders and squeezing down the length of her arms, loosening her muscles so that she fell limp and useless in the aftermath of his touch. She closed her eyes and savored the sensuous pressure of his explorations, his palms consuming and fingers searching out every nook and swell of her body. He was thorough, deliberate and gentle, the magnitude of strength contained in his hands unmistakable. One palm slid up to her throat, practically spanning the perimeter of her neck as nimble fingers massaged gently under her jaw and earlobes. She felt small and vulnerable, utterly possessed and completely safe.

"I don't know how I'm going to go back to a life without you," he whispered. "It seems impossible."

"I know." Her throat too constricted to say more.

Her chest instantly welled up with a deep, throbbing ache and she lay forward, their slick bodies sliding easily together. She cradled his head in her hands and pressed her lips tenderly to his, suckling on the beautiful curves of his mouth, trying to record every texture, every line, every pillowy flourish. With her hands she studied the contours of his skull under his skin, the sharp jut of his angled brow and high cheek bones, the luscious head of hair, made even more appealing by its soapy, wet disarray. The way his ever-present stubble enhanced the masculine cut of his jaw. She moved to kiss his brows and his eyelids, to nuzzle her nose against his as she slowly arched against him, writhing her body up the length of his, taking in every inch of him with every inch of her.

He scraped down her back and squeezed at the flesh of her buttocks, filling his hands and curling his fingers under to where their bodies joined. One finger slid agonizingly up the crease of her rear, massaging up the sensitive inner skin of her cheeks.

"Do you think we can make this last all night?" he asked.

"Even if we don't, I have no desire to sleep."

"Good."

In time, the water began to cool. Cullen helped Avery wash the soap out of her hair first, helping her to lean back while keeping their bodies attached, before rinsing his own and then separating and stepping out of the tub. She stood in an amorous daze while Cullen toweled her off slowly, dragging the soft cloth around her arms and breasts. He squeezed the dripping moisture from her hair and massaged down her back, then dropped to his knees to softly dry her legs as his face hovered inches away from her sex. He briefly dipped his tongue into her, sighing against her thighs as he lapped and probed slowly, sending electric bolts of stimulation lashing outward. He suckled gently on her before pulling back and kissing down her thighs. She struggled to hold back a laugh as his stubble tickled at the sensitive flesh above her knees. After discarding the towel he directed her to turn around, and with a start she found herself face to face with her own reflection in the antique standing mirror in the corner of the room. He remained on his knees behind her, his considerable manhood at full attention, bobbing and swaying gently with his movements.

His mouth found the back of her thighs and he tongued his way back up, a hot stream of ticklish sensation climbing toward the joining of her legs. Eventually he stopped to nibble on her buttocks before his mouth delved deeply within her cheeks once again. A hand on her back urged her gently forward and his mouth found the lips of her sex from behind, sliding his tongue deep between her folds, flicking firmly over the bud of nerves that was still raw with the memory of the orgasm from earlier in the day. But the image of him in the mirror, so aroused and ready, his face so focused as he pressed upon all the right places with his tongue, sent a fresh wave of blood through her body. Within moments she was aching and throbbing, feeling an increase in moisture between her legs as her body's craving for him grew.

Eventually he pulled back from her clitoris and slowly worked his way from front to back, ending with his face buried in her buttocks, pulling at the pillows of her cheeks with his teeth, and tonguing at the sensitive ring of flesh deep within. She yelped and gasped at the skillful moves of his mouth and pressed back into him, seeking increased force.

"Fuck me Cullen," she breathed, "please." In the mirror his eyes flashed dark as he looked up into her face, and with a parting kiss to her rear, he rose slowly to a stand, his mouth sliding up her back while his solid cock dragged up the back her legs, coming to nestle within the crease of her buttocks. He watched their reflection in the mirror intently as she bucked her ass back into his hips and he brought one hand around to cup her breasts while the other traveled the length of her stomach down to her thighs, his caresses alternating between soft whispers of his fingertips and firm, biting handfuls.

"I will, love," he whispered into her ear as he bit at her neck. "But look at yourself first."

She opened her eyes and took in the slim figure that stood before him in the mirror. "Do you see how beautiful you are, Avery?"

His hands traveled over her hips, clenching at her flesh as his eyes slid hungrily over her. She leaned back against him, his cock stiff and twitching slightly in time with his heart, while his hands took her in, mapping out every curve and dip. He gasped in her ear when a finger slid between her folds and found her even wetter than she'd already been. Her skin tingled from top to bottom, energized and awakened by his exploring hands. When his finger dipped fully into her sex she moaned and arched, her body aching desperately to be rejoined with him.

"Please, Cullen," she panted, ready for him to enter her, to take her hard, or slow, or soft, or whatever he wanted. As long as he was inside her.

"I will my darling. I will, I promise. But I need to see every inch of you first, so that I can remember it all."

Strong hands directed her to turn, angling her back toward the mirror where his eyes continued to bore into their reflection. He scratched fingertips down her body, eliciting a streak of sensation that was both satisfying and agonizingly brief, and she moaned again with an uncontrollable need as the fingertips were joined by his palm, grasping firmly at the flesh of her buttocks. Drips of fluid leaking from his throbbing cock smeared against the front of her thigh and she wrapped her hand around him again, slowly sliding her hand over the velvety flesh. He rewarded her with a low growl and a firm hand plunged deeply between the cheeks of her buttocks, sliding hard up and down, his fingers probing the full length of the cleft between her legs. She hissed as her body seemed to beg for him, every inch of her stimulated to the point of pain. She needed to be filled, somehow, some way. She clenched her legs around his hand, trying to increase the pressure of his touch, her hips gyrating of their own accord. Her inner walls contracted, her clitoris aching and pulsing.

"Cullen," she whined…"please… I need you inside me, please."

"Mmmm, my love. I don't think I have ever heard anything sweeter than that." One of his fingers found the sensitive flowering entry of her buttocks and pressed, sending a an ecstatic jolt of pleasure through her, reverberating torturously through the aching bud. He moved his hand away and traveled deeper between and under, swirling his fingers within the pooling moisture of her folds.

"You're practically dripping, love," he whispered, moving a wet hand back to the buzzing entry of her arse, teasing his fingertips around the tingling ring of flesh before sliding back up the crease. His eyes stayed glued to their reflection, traveling up and down the length of her body and watching her face as she reacted to his touch.

"Please," she begged, on the verge of crying, her voice drawn high and tight.

"Okay," he pulled her back against him, "okay, love." His solid cock replaced his fingers between her legs, and she bent slightly, eagerly angling her hips until she finally felt the head of his cock slide between her lips, roaming back and forth and growing wet with her juices. Cullen pulled one of her legs up by the thigh, opening her up to the mirror so they could see his column of flesh as he angled his own hips and pressed upward, embedding slowly into her.

Her body was desperate, his movements coming too slow, dragging agonizingly toward her depths as her whole mound pulsed, inflamed with the promise of explosive pleasure. Finally he was buried to the hilt, his head falling to rest against hers with a groan as he continued to push past their limits straining to reach her furthest depths, but still she had to wait, his grip on her thigh stifling any attempts of her hips to hasten his movements. Slowly he withdrew, his eyes fixed upon the point of their joining, his cock wide and shiny as it emerged back into view. And then finally, reverently, he began to thrust in and out, his cock disappearing within forceful claps of flesh on flesh that shook waves of pleasure loose from within her, pounding hard at the door of her orgasm. The sight of their bodies together was intoxicating, their joined flesh engorged and flushed pink, the pent up need held within them written all over their faces. His strokes were long and calculated, rearing back for maximum momentum before plunging hard and deep. The sight was obscenely erotic and her fingers found her way into her folds almost as though the hand belonged to someone else.

She felt teeth on the flesh of her shoulder, cutting ecstatically into her tingling skin as her whole body swarmed with sensation. His firm fingers clutched into her thighs, the hard ripples of his chest tensing against her back, the jolting impact of his powerful thrusts as they broke down all her inhibitions, loosening her limbs and prying feral cries from her throat. Each blast of his hips propelled her closer and closer to a sweet, euphoric oblivion. She wrenched her eyes away from their sex and found an even greater sight in his face, his rapturous eyes black with desire, opened and gaping, taking in every inch of her like a ravenous animal feasting upon his prey.

"Fuck I love you Avery," he growled as his free hand came up to grip her chin, pulling her face toward her shoulder so that his teeth could find and pull at her lower lip, stinging deliciously into the soft flesh. She steeled her back, absorbing the impact of each powerful thrust and pushing against his cock, ramming herself back into him with equal fervor.

"Harder," she hissed, each shockwave of his thrusts rattling loose greater waves of an overpowering sweetness, originating deep within and resounding outward, rippling into her ears, fingers and toes. "Fuck me harder Cullen." He growled again, a low rumble that she felt as much as heard, tinged with a guttural wildness that betrayed his own impending release. She closed her eyes, overtaken and undone by the powerful lover behind her, their mingled scent and the salacious ring of flesh hitting flesh, every sense filled and pushed to the brink of what she could bear. She bent lower and closed her eyes, trying to turn to brace herself over the bed, feeling her limbs on the verge of giving out as the swell of heat and sweetness grew larger than her physical limits could contain, threatening to destroy any remaining control she had over her body.

"No, open your eyes," his sultry voice cut through her nirvana, softly hissing his command between deep panting breaths, " _watch_."

She did as she was told, struggling to focus through the swirling haze of sensation. Her climax was imminent, balancing on a razor's edge and ready to slice through her, to reduce her to a pile of aching, clenching shreds. He pulled her upright and cradled her against the wall of his chest. "Come for me love," he urged, his voice raw and rasping. She nodded, and obeyed, impaling herself repeatedly on the unyielding sword of his cock, holding his blackened eyes with her own as an incinerating orgasm ripped her open from the inside out.

When she was emptied, loose and quivering, Cullen stopped, holding her firmly in place, his mouth suckled to the base of her neck as his heart pounded through the both of them like a drum.

"What's wrong?" she breathed.

"Nothing, love. But if this is going to last much longer, I need to pace myself."

"Okay…" she sighed with a tired smirk. "Do you mind if I…" she gestured toward the bed. He laughed softly in her ear as she pulled loose and collapsed onto the soft covers, her muscles reduced to unwieldy, gelatinous masses. She turned to welcome him into her arms as he joined her, positioning himself so that their faces were only inches apart. He stroked her hair, his amber eyes adoring and soft.

"Sleep if you want to Avery," he whispered.

"No, it's our last night. I don't want to waste it."

"But we do still have tomorrow."

"Yes but we'll need to sleep tomorrow night, so we can set out early the next morning. It barely counts," she sighed sadly.

"We'll have all day. And we'll be sleeping in each other's arms. That counts. And then we'll have a night at camp."

"It's still not enough."

"I know, love."


	16. Chapter 16

Avery found his mouth again, sighing deeply at the seemingly endless pleasures derived from his lush, nectarous lips. His kisses were satisfying beyond measure: patient, intense and crushingly intimate, resonating powerfully into the very depths of her soul. If they'd been able to do nothing more than kiss in all their time together, she was sure she'd still have come away feeling soundly ravished. For a man who'd had minimal experience before her, he'd learned quickly how to use his mouth and touch in ways that would rival even the most accomplished lover.

She found herself slipping further into a state of sheer awe at his ability to tune in completely, intuiting exactly what she needed. He listened, he paid attention, and he was profoundly generous. It almost seemed right that in just a few days she'd have to give him back to the Templars, as the longer she spent enjoying the gift of his attentions, the more she wondered what in Thedas she could ever have done to deserve him. She realized that she'd succumbed to a sort of lover's idolatry, a temptation she'd always made a point of rejecting and branding as pathetic, but it was simply too late to do anything about it. She was in too blighted deep already, unable to keep her head above the waters of her blind, idiotic, overzealous heart.

Her own lips felt sore and swollen, stinging slightly at their continued use, but she had no plans or desire to stop tasting him. She pulled him closer, his naked body still moistened and aroused, his limbs sliding naturally around her and fitting perfectly into place. His movements had been filled with such raw power as they stood before the mirror only minutes before, but now his touch was languid and unhurried. His weight upon her, the now familiar encroachments and textures of his body, combined to flip some sort of switch in her brain, turning her thoughts into a distorting glass. For the long moments that she was swallowed up in him, she saw their situation differently. Circumstances twisted and changed; small things became points to worry over while impossible odds could be dashed away with a shrug and an iron will. Their future still was not set, the only things yet to come being things that they made happen. Any obstacles that existed were only what they allowed to exist.

It was a tempting viewpoint, and one she normally would have embraced. Had it not been for the numerous balls already set in motion, moving inexorably toward some inevitable, devastating crash, she might have thrown caution to the wind and chosen to do so. But that tiny, quiet, downright _cruel_ nag of a voice in the back of her thoughts had done a good job, too good a job, at not letting her forget what was already coming. Even when soaked in wine and inebriated by sex, the voice manged to resurface at regular intervals, reminding her of the imminent war back home, of the divide that made any future together impossible. It was a light hand lingering on her shoulder, a clock ticking away the seconds of their happiness. Nothing could be done. Kirkwall wasn't going to change.

Avery shook the thoughts away and wrapped her legs around his hips as they settled comfortably over hers, finding his way back into her without guidance. Slowly he resumed his rocking, her inner depths still slick with juices and buzzing with the remnants of her earlier orgasm. Her eyes blurred as she relaxed back and opened up to the awareness of her skin; arms, legs and hands roaming, her lips scoring hard against the stubble of his throat. His silken flesh burned against her, the angles of his pelvis grinding against the sensitive softness of her thighs. She was gratefully losing herself piece by piece, slipping away into a worshipful trance and becoming a vessel focused solely on pleasing this beautiful man, this forbidden Templar. She raked her fingers into his hair as he trailed the tip of his tongue down her neck, dipping into the hollow at the base of her throat. As she gasped and sucked in sweet breaths of air, she silently thanked the Maker. Maybe she wasn't sure she deserved such incomparable bliss, but for whatever reason he had offered it anyway. For whatever reason, he'd chosen to forget who he was and simply love her.

His breathing grew heavier and heavier as they writhed slowly together, their bodies fused into a single tangle of flesh and limbs and lips. She followed his cues, offering the same unquestioning responsiveness that he'd blessed her with, her body alternating between compliance and resistance, anchoring herself in whatever manner roused the greatest reactions, whether it be a quickening of his thrusts, a sharp intake of breath, or renewed force in his kiss. She moved in order to serve, existing solely to hear the evolution of his pleasure as it escaped his throat in sighs and groans.

"Maker preserve me," he whispered before his mouth descended upon her earlobe, suckling gently as soft puffs of breath tickled hairs against her neck.

In molding her body to his needs, she found herself unexpectedly on the precipice of another shuddering climax, and she clenched down as she braced herself against him, her raw inner walls constricting and blooming with an agonizing sweetness that touched the edge of pain. She gasped his name and drew her nails down his back, the last wisps of her self awareness slipping away. For a brief moment, she was one with the air around her, living for him, but also pushed out of herself, flayed open to the mysteries of love and death and the Fade. Her ears hissed with the quiet offerings of the spirits that dwelled just beyond the veil. Desire crooked a seductive finger, promising that their love would never have to end. Pride showed her pictures of Meredith hanging from a noose in the Gallows, with Avery and Cullen standing victoriously together before a congregation of reverent mages and Templars. Sloth whispered that they need not ever leave, that they could remain in their town and let Kirkwall fall into the sea without them. They were the most difficult denials she'd ever made, but she dug deep and mustered up the strength to close them out, feeling the tenuous, shaky hold on the Fade slide under her skin at the same moment that Cullen stiffened, his sensuous rocking brought to a halt.

"Are you okay love?" he whispered. The link of his voice drew her back into the moment. She opened her eyes, half expecting to see that sharp stare of a Templar readying his silencing spell, but instead she saw deep wells of concern. She smiled lazily. "Yes. Nothing is wrong right now," she said, her hands pulling him back into rhythm. He groaned and dropped his head forward, his eyes fluttering closed as he resumed his slow thrusting.

"Except…" she began reluctantly, beginning to register subtle pricks of pain from parts overused. Quietly she lamented the weaknesses of the flesh, her desire to please him persisting unabated despite the impending breach of her physical limits.

"Unlike you, however, I do not have Qunari-grade stamina. I'm afraid I may need a rest soon," she said.

He whimpered quietly as he slowed himself. "I'm sorry. We can stop."

"Well, wait… can I… try something first? It'll definitely bring this to a close, for now anyway. At least until I have a little break and some time to… recharge," she asked.

"Try something? What have you got up your sleeve now you minx?" he smirked, his voice sounding as tired as she'd begun to feel.

"Do you trust me?"

He raised a curious eyebrow, but nodded.

She closed her eyes and took a sip of mana, her supply of unused magic on the verge of overflowing. Cullen froze again as the vibrations traveled under her skin, and she grabbed his buttocks, urging him to continue. "Trust me, love."

Slowly he relaxed, sinking more heavily upon her as his muscles loosened. Avery wound up a thread of electricity, slowing the frequency of energy contained within the thin bolt and matching it in time to the movements of their hips. She snaked a hand between them until her fingertips found a skein of moisture, and gently unleashed the charge. It followed along the hidden pockets of sweat and mingled fluids, firing up small, tingling shocks as it spread along hairs and snaked between joined parts. Cullen brought in a sharp breath, his brows furrowing in surprise as he bucked deeply into her in response. Avery kept one hand on his hips, guiding him, urging him to maintain his pace as she let the carefully controlled bolt drain from her fingertips. The electricity was an instant flood of stimulation, magnifying already existent sensations tenfold, and she immediately felt herself pushed up to a new edge, with Cullen panting and tensing as he followed along.

"Maker's breath!" he breathed as he struggled to keep an even pace. She pulled up another bolt, this one slightly stronger, and as it streamed between them, dancing like flames across the sensitized flesh, she heard herself crying loudly, her nipples contracting as every hair on her body stood on end. Cullen dropped on top of her as his hands came up to clutch her head, his mouth finding hers and crashing into it with a desperate fervor, moaning sweet, tantalizing mewls around her lips as his body was seized with electrically charged ecstasy. Finally, the last bolt, the strongest of the three and the one to finish them off. She calibrated it to perfection and then sent it off, traveling between them and filling all the gaps and spaces with a pure, concentrated manifestation of pleasure. Her body thrashed under his weight as the climax climbed up her skin, and Cullen's mouth broke away and practically sobbed, his musical voice drenched in uncontrolled desperation. "Maker! Avery!" he called as his hips jerked and pulsed against hers, pressing with the full force of his strength as wave of sensation scorched through them both. She felt his seed filling her, carrying with it an electrical charge that added to the shrill screams of sweetness already blasting her hard against the bed.

Time passed without measure as their bodies purged every last ounce of desire and lust into the other, reducing them down into one single, writhing being.

When it was done, he slid beside her, the absence of his weight allowing her ribcage to fully extend again.

"You're ruining me," he gasped as he continued to suck in breath after breath. She laughed quietly, and waited for the blaring heartbeat in her ears to recede so she could hear herself speak.

"It's only fair," she answered breathlessly. "You've completely destroyed me."

He rolled over and kissed over her eyelids. "Is that true?" he asked.

She sighed, breathing back the ever present well of melancholy that seemed to reside permanently under her lungs.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"I'm sorry. If it were up to me…" he began, but she quickly brought a finger to his lips, stopping him.

"Don't. I can't hear that. I can't bear it."

He grabbed her hand and pulled it away from his mouth. "I'm going to say it, love. You can't keep stopping me from saying the things I want to say. Because I need you to know," he said. "If it were up to me, I would marry you in a heartbeat. In front of all your friends. In front of that foolish apostate that broke your heart. I would laugh in that bastard's face as I walked away with the best thing he ever had. And then I would bring you home, to _our_ home, and we would make a family." He released her hand and laid his own beneath her navel. "You would make beautiful babies, Avery. I would want them to look just like you."

Hot tears streamed down her cheeks and an attempt at a breath turned into a hiccup. A bright burn spread over her chest and scorched through her gut as she tried to fling all the images out of her mind. In place of the overwhelming pleasure that still hadn't fully drained from her lungs, came an attack of that nagging voice reminding her of all that was inevitable. And it was joined by a new one, a meaner one. One that flashed her images of everything that could've been, if things had just been a little bit different. Cullen standing at the front of a Chantry, waiting as she walked toward him. Or perhaps in a spring field, under a blooming pergola and an expansive blue sky. Anders' solemn expression as she joined willingly, exultantly, with the last person he expected, someone he might even consider his worst enemy. A small child with amber eyes and delicate lips climbing into her lap and throwing chubby arms around her neck. It was too much. Her exhausted body shook with the grief as she suddenly and uncontrollably mourned the loss of a life she couldn't have, of a love that would go unmatched for the rest of her days.

"I'm sorry," he whispered as she withered into his chest, curling around the bloom of aching pain, hiding in the strong bulk of his arms. "I'm sorry."

The rest of their time passed in a blur, each minute disappearing in a blink until there was only a night left. And then only a few hours. And then one hour. And then the sun rose.

She'd tried to rest through the last night, the memory of their lazy, naked day fresh in her mind, but nothing inside her would stay quiet, and every time she clutched harder at Cullen she found him awake and ready to respond. There'd been no nightmares, because there'd been no sleep, for either of them. Inevitably, the black slowly eased into a darker blue and the moment came when they couldn't put it off any longer. Their packs were ready. A fresh new tunic had been purchased for her at the markets the day before, after a handful of hours spent exploring the town's streets. The sun was rising and all they needed to do was dress and leave.

Even that first day of travel was gone within a flash, their dreading of the destination somehow seeming to mysteriously quicken their speed. They'd made camp, and the exhaustion of two sleepless nights drove them both to almost instant unconsciousness once they'd collapsed upon their bedrolls. Sleep was exactly what Avery needed, but the last thing she actually wanted. More of their precious, limited time, disappearing into the ether.

She woke the final morning with a cramped hand, from clutching hard to his through the night in order to keep them from rolling apart. As they progressed toward home her body had begun to feel increasingly ill, the expected result of operating well beyond her capacity for two straight days, combined with a cruel, insidious heartsickness. But her only option was to put her head down and barrel forward.

It was difficult to meet his eyes during the journey, to bring herself to face the thing that was going to break her once it was gone. It was as difficult a trip as she'd ever made, and it was only made worse by the fact their feeble attempts at conversation seemed to die too quickly, leaving most of their arduous steps to be taken in a cold silence.

They'd traveled down the mountain, following gravity as it led them to the distant sparkle of the Waking Sea, and then they turned West, keeping the water to the left and the mountains to their right. They saw the outline of Kirkwall hours before they had any hope of reaching it, sitting on the horizon, ugly and taunting. She felt a growing burn of revulsion as she looked upon the remote silhouette of the Twins, towering and hazy, anchoring the heavy chains that abutted the harbor within the vast, churning sea.

The city was far too close when she stopped, dropped her pack and paced around a low cluster of trees. Just a little bit longer, an hour maybe, and they'd be at Kirkwall's door. Their little fantasy would be over. Everything would change. The moment came entirely too soon.

"So this is it, right? I mean… after this, after we go talk to Meredith, that's the end," she asked.

His shoulders dropped, his face wan and pale. Sometime in the last two days, a subtle bruise of purple had reappeared around his eyes.

"I don't know… we neither of us know what might have changed while we were gone. Maybe, we go in and we just… see…"

She thought a moment, kicking a trail between some spindly, deadened trees as her heart beat loud in her ears.

"We just see?" she repeated. "See if we can find more opportunities to get caught? See if Meredith already has a pair of nooses with our names on them?"

"I don't know Avery. I mean…" He toed at a fallen branch and rubbed the back of his neck until the skin blazed red. "It's already not going to look good with just you and me returning, alone, after overstaying by three days. We're going to have to come up with a story… and I don't even know where to begin with that. But, but who knows. So much could have happened in five days… "

"Do you think Meredith thinks we're dead?" Avery asked. "What if we walk in there to find that things have only gotten worse?"

She gave in to impulse and finally approached Cullen, tenderly cupping his cheek, taking in every detail of his sullen face. "I don't want to go back. I want to stay with you."

He sighed and shrugged off his pack. It hit the ground with a jangle, his metal armor within rattling ominously. He leaned his face into her hand as he fidgeted with the belt of her breeches, seemingly unable to meet her eyes.

"I'm out of lyrium, love."

"I know," she sighed. "I know. But, I mean… I have money in Kirkwall. I know people. We could get some lyrium, a whole bunch of it, and then leave again."

"You know I want to, but… I can't leave my men, the _whole city_ , at Meredith's mercy. If I can somehow tip the balance a little, or help make things better, then I think I should. _You_ should. We both have roles to play in this. We always have."

"So you're… what, going to try to oust her? You're going to join some sort of uprising of Templars? Take her down from the inside? Do you have a _plan_?"

"I.. I don't know. I mean… no. Nothing like that. Like it or not, I _am_ loyal to the Templars, Avery. I believe in the cause, or I wouldn't have given my life to it. I wouldn't be leaving you, right now. But at the very least I need to try to make sure Meredith doesn't completely destroy Kirkwall's Order. Kirkwall needs the Templars now more than ever."

"Oh do they?" she asked, holding back a derisive laugh. She dropped her hand and took a step away from him.

"Yes. Until mages stop turning to blood magic then we are the only thing protecting the people."

"And why is it that mages are resorting to blood magic again?" she asked, her tone unexpectedly sharp. He sighed, flashing her dark, weary eyes. "You believe in Templars like Ser Bennet having the power that they do? Ser Alrik?"

"No, of course not. Look… we can go around in circles out here all day. You and I both know there is nothing more to be said on the topic that hasn't already been beaten into the ground. I have a duty, I made a commitment. I want to stay with you. I wish that things were different. I wish that we could have a life together. If you want to still meet at the ledge, if that's all we have, then that's better than nothing, isn't it?"

Her exhaustion suddenly took on a new weight. Her chest ached, her boots felt as though they'd been filled with lead. Waves of an empty, pointless longing crashed through her as she looked at the man she loved. He too looked sad and overburdened.

"Not if it puts you at too great a risk," she said sadly.

Cullen said nothing, just watched her. For a moment she caught a glimpse of the same tormented man she'd encountered one early autumn day on the ledge. That was it then, she figured. It really and truly was the end.

"Okay then," she began. Her heart was a raw, aching vacancy. Someone might as well have scooped out all her organs and sewed her back up into a hollow joke of a person. "So… a story for Meredith. I was injured by Ser Bennet, obviously. Apparently at her command, but I suppose we'll deal with that little detail once we get there. We'll have to say I had a head injury too, so that I was unconscious and couldn't heal myself. You either had to wait it out or find me a healer. It took a few days and then we came home. The end."

She turned and picked up her pack, ready to just rip the bandage of the whole situation off and get it all over with. Part her had been envisioning some final kiss, some rolling about in a pile of pine needles before they took their last steps into the city. But the fantasy they'd been caught up in for the past three days was already over, irretrievably destroyed. It was done.

"You'll probably want to put your armor back on now."

She walked away and left him to it, each breath she took burning like fire in her lungs. She blinked away tears and reached down deep inside, into the dormant pool of anger that lay eternally in the depths of her mind. It would be easier, she decided, to be royally pissed off than completely destroyed. To be ready to fight rather than ready to curl up and die. She stomped around the rocky grounds, fuming harder and harder, letting rage wash out all impulse toward a sad, crippling despondency, and she waited for Cullen resurrect his inner Templar.

When it was done, his mask of metal caging his body and pack strung atop his shoulders, she turned toward the entrance to Kirkwall without meeting his eyes and prepared to face Meredith.


	17. Chapter 17

After the strangely anti-climactic conversation with Meredith, who'd actually acted _pleased_ to see them, most especially her seemingly returned-from-the-dead Knight-Captain, and all the anger Avery cultivated for the last hour of their journey seemed a little bit useless. Meredith had sweetly denied giving any particular orders to Ser Bennet, stating that his were the same as everyone else's, which was to merely deal with any mage deemed to be a threat in an appropriate manner. Ser Bennet must have either seen something in Avery he considered threatening, or simply considered the whole directive open for his own interpretation. Avery scowled, and Cullen nodded, neither of them able to offer evidence of anything more, nor even much else in the way of argument.

Cullen's silence on the matter was a little disappointing. He'd been the one to fight Ser Bennet off, having to resort to completely removing the man's head for Maker's sake, but under Meredith's honeyed excuses he could only shrug solemnly and nod.

Avery bristled quietly, clinging to the lifeline of anger that had been allowing her to stay composed. _This is all good,_ she reminded herself. _It'll just make things easier._

It wasn't that he appeared weak necessarily, but he was certainly showing a reluctance to fight. To fight for her, for them. Standing there in the grey Gallows fortress, with only a few sad looks passing between them, she realized that something about it all felt a little bit like more rejection. He'd had so many passionate words on the subject of their separation when it was just the two of them, but when it came down to it, the end was coming all too quietly.

But then, it wasn't his fault. She'd made it abundantly clear how things needed to go. She should be glad that he was respecting her wishes and taking her concerns seriously. She shouldn't be mad at the man for giving her exactly what she'd demanded.

And she wasn't even entirely sure what she'd been hoping for anyway.

That he'd take the offer of procuring some lyrium and then running away together? That he'd be perfectly fine leaving the Templars below him, men he knew and who counted on him, to deal with the city's conflict on their own? That was an awful lot to ask.

When the important words had all been said, she'd uttered a quick but sincere thank you to Cullen for helping her home, and left them both behind as she numbly crossed the vast expanse of the Gallows. Hanging from nooses just outside the entrance to the courtyard were three Templars, their limp bodies gleaming and resplendent in full Templar regalia, swaying in the breeze alongside two blood soaked mages. She made herself look at them as she passed. Take them in. Understand what it meant.

 _That could be you and Cullen._

It too would help, she hoped. Looking at the reality of all the things she feared, seeing Cullen's willing subservience to Meredith, a woman who clearly had no compunction in hanging her own. It would all aid her in staying strong and keeping her distance. Or so she hoped.

 _This is precisely what you need to see._

The city was cold, and the streets were barren everywhere but outside the Hanged Man, which harbored an impressive number vomit scented drunkards. She considered walking in and drinking herself into oblivion before she made her way home. But the chances that she'd see someone she knew, someone who would request a story or an explanation for her absence, was enough to repel her completely.

Finally she entered her home, unslung her heavy pack in the vestibule and took a deep breath. She was still a little surprised to see the space of the main room occupied by a sofa and the other new adornments, and she immediately heard the approaching steps of the dwarves.

"Messere!" exclaimed Bodahn, "we was wondering when you'd be returning!"

She greeted him warmly, glad to see their familiar, trustworthy faces. In a blink of an eye, a flurry of ecstatic war dog was jumping at her, his body wiggling with excitement as he practically knocked her off her feet. She couldn't help but smile at his unabashed enthusiasm at her return, and she kneeled down to give him a thorough scratching. For a brief moment, she felt badly that she'd ever considered leaving the loyal beast behind. He was the only one who'd come with her from Lothering who still lived.

"Aveline's been keeping him real busy messere. He barely noticed you were gone," Bodahn offered pleasantly. "You look like you've had a long journey. Shall I fill the bath?"

"Yes please, Bodahn. Thank you."

"Enchantment!"exclaimed Sandal.

"Of course. Also there are several letters for you on the desk, messere."

She walked breathlessly away from them, the last little bit of her remaining energy drained by the few sentences of small talk. She ignored the envelopes stacked up on the desk and made her way toward the solitude of her room, pausing a moment outside mother's bedroom door, as she always did, to cast a small wish into the air that her mother be at peace.

The room was as cold as the streets had been, and smelled of dust and freshly laundered linens. The setting sun was hidden from the windows, leaving the room almost completely dark. She tossed a few fresh logs into the fireplace, and blasted a stream of flames at them, holding the burst of destructive magic for much longer than she needed to. When the logs had been sufficiently punished, they burned bright and hot, the room immediately feeling several degrees warmer.

She fell forward onto the bed, listless and lifeless, and very much wanted to climb directly into the sheets and not leave. But still she wore her dirt encrusted boots, her newly purchased and unwashed tunic, and she smelled precisely as though she'd been traveling over rough, rocky terrain for two straight days.

She'd make her bath quick, and then she'd sleep. And maybe she'd never get out of bed again.

The night came and went, and even when the sun was high in the sky the next day Avery could do nothing more than pull her pillow over her head and sink further down into her covers. Bodahn had knocked on her door a few times, but she didn't even call out a greeting, much less get up and walk across the room to open the door. If it was important enough, she figured he'd just come in. She'd had to rise once to attend to the call of nature, then chugged a glass of water and returned to bed. The ache deep in her chest and bones was both physical and something so much more than that, emanating from some abyssal nether region at her core. At various points her pillow and cheeks were dampened, but she'd barely the energy to wipe away the tears. Instead she just let them come until they didn't any more, then slept some more, begging herself for dreams that did not feature the touch of a warm, golden haired Templar. She slept until her head throbbed, until the room fell dark again and her stomach growled with hunger.

The house and streets outside her window had fallen quiet when she finally sat up, her throat parched and stomach cramping its request for food. She dragged herself from between the sheets and picked at the dwarves' leftovers in the kitchen until her stomach was quiet, washing the bits of cold chicken and bread down with a deep glass of whiskey that she carried to the sofa.

The liquor was powerful, narrowing her vision and rendering her body loose and formless. The room swam around her, rocking and swaying, seeming to overcorrect for her movements. As she sank deep into the sofa and stared into the churning darkness around her, she had a blurry vision of throwing on her cloak and sneaking into the Gallows, hitting all the Templars with a sleep spell and slitting Meredith's throat in her bed. Or of finding her way into the compound in the docks and entering Cullen's tent as he slept. She'd shed all her clothing and pull off his blankets, silencing his surprise with a kiss.

One quick flash of the Templars in their nooses, swaying in the breeze in the Gallows put those fantasies to rest. She and Cullen were over. They had to be over. No matter how good it was, no matter how incomparable the bliss, she simply couldn't see him in a noose, or otherwise ruined. She winced at stupid Anders and those stupid words that he'd uttered on their way to the sewers, words that had never fully left her since the moment she'd heard them. "Outed as a mage lover" (as though there weren't plenty of Templars who had no problems lying with mages). "Discredited. A laughingstock. He'd be hanged for sure." She should have turned around and hit him. But that probably would have only outed _her_ as a Templar lover.

She fingered the amber ring in the dark, wincing regretfully at the memory of their last moments together. She should have kissed him before they came back into Kirkwall, one last time. No matter how angry or sad or disheartened she'd been, she should have kissed him at the very least. It didn't matter that they'd spent the three days before that kissing at every possible opportunity, those would still never be enough to satisfy the lingering need for him. She should have pulled him to the ground and basked in every single inch of his body again, while she'd still had the chance.

But for some now unfathomable reason, she hadn't.

As she threw back the last of the whiskey she realized her cheeks were wet again. She sniffled and dropped her glass softly onto the rug, staring up at the black rectangular painting of the stormy sea above the fireplace. In the dark, no detail was visible, but she felt the scene within pulling at her, calling for her to plunge inside and sink to the bottom of the tempestuous sea. It would be a better ending than drowning in her own despair. Than waiting for Meredith to come for her head. The sea within the painting wasn't real, but its call to her was. And it was the anchor she held onto as the room began to spin, as the hollow ache in her chest was overpowered by a burst of impulse and she found herself on her feet, seeking out that black cloak and pulling on her boots. Before she could think better of it, her front door was closed behind her and her lungs were filled with cold, crisp night air.

The moon was full and draped the courtyard in front of her under a silvery veil. She tried to keep to the shadows as she moved swiftly through the streets, realizing with a sigh that she'd need to find herself another mage staff soon. The cold air bit at her cheeks and soothed the pounding of her head, slowly shocking back small bits of sobriety. Her steps were not as sure as they could have been, her feet occasionally grinding audibly against the stone streets. For all her wishes of learning to use daggers, she'd probably make a terrible rogue. Even two sheets to the wind Isabela had been able to disappear into the darkness without a sound, but Avery simply stumbled about. But perhaps more practice was all she really needed. More practice and a clear head.

Just a block away from the stairs to Lowtown she froze at the sound of voices, and shrank back into a dark corner behind a large potted bush. Not trusting herself to try to move silently, she stayed stock still and watched anxiously from the shadows as a group of mages slipped through a nearby passage. Following behind them wafted the distinct scent of old, souring blood.

Avery sighed, finally asking herself what in the void she was doing out there. It was a stupid, drunken decision, and one that could very well cost her life if she wasn't careful. But yet once the hushed voices had disappeared deep into the shadows, she did not turn home. It was unbelievably foolish, but she shrugged off the risk, her mind fixated on the destination she'd set. She descended the stairs to Lowtown quickly, and followed the darkness through the streets, feeling more sure-footed the further along she went.

The compound in the Docks was quiet and her heart beat loudly in her ears as she approached. Her voice of reason was still slurred and hampered by the whiskey, and before she'd really thought about it, the two guards standing sentry in front of the compound slid to the ground with a pulse of a sleep spell, having somehow been caught by surprise. She figured it was possible they'd already been dozing under their metal masks. They should have seen her descending the stairs toward them if they'd actually been on alert, but somehow they hadn't.

She quietly climbed into the stairwell to the compound, having no actual idea what it was she was doing, and pressed herself back against the wall just in front of the gate. She lingered there for what felt like much longer than it probably was, listening hard for the sound of any movement within.

This sort of thing was exactly what she shouldn't be doing. How would it look for her to get caught there? Would it seem like she was planning to attack? They'd all likely think her a complete idiot for attempting such a thing, and she'd surely be prosecuted summarily.

She tried to pry herself away, tried to talk herself out of whatever it was she thought she was doing, but couldn't seem to take those steps back down the stairs. Somewhere inside, only meters away, was Cullen. Possibly not even sleeping. Possibly thinking about her. Possibly caught in a nightmare that she couldn't be there to soothe. Certainly he was depressed, just as she was. Certainly he was forcing himself to put up a strong, unburdened facade. She stayed locked into place, assuring herself she wasn't going to go any further, she was only going to rest there a moment, and listen.

There was the occasional crunch of footsteps that came close and then faded again. A flap of a canvas tent door. The scrape of an item on a table getting bumped, or moved. A distant cough. A clang of metal. Someone, somewhere was snoring. She waited, her heart blaring hard in her ears, and then the footsteps came again, stopped and receded once more. Her breath caught as she heard a familiar voice, and she strained to listen harder. That couldn't possibly be him. The steps sounded off again, slowly getting louder. Her lungs began to sting from her refusal to breathe. There were more scrapes against the ground, the swishes of close movement and then a familiar sounding groan.

Her body was flooded with icy adrenaline as she became more certain. It was not the type of groan she had usually inspired him to make, but one that sounded tired and pained. He was there, only steps away, moving about under the moonlight.

She took in a deep breath to keep her burning chest from crumpling into itself, trying to hold back the tears. It was both comforting and agonizing knowing that he was so close. She could go in, she could round the corner and grab his hand, lead him out into the street and wrap herself tightly around him. Or she could just stand there for a few more minutes, and just exist within the knowledge that he was only feet away. She looked up into the sky and wondered what the hour was. It was late, that was certain, probably not far from sunrise. And apparently he wasn't even trying to sleep. Or maybe he already had, and had given up the attempt.

Avery closed her eyes and opened her senses as widely as she could manage, trying to receive every flutter of movement, every scratch and ring of metal, mapping out in her head the footsteps that he took as he paced. At his furthest point away she could hear nothing. When his steps came back into range, there was between eleven and thirteen steps in one direction, before he stopped and turned. In the middle of one string of steps came a small grumble, followed by some sharp, inaudible words whispered to himself. She cringed inwardly. She shouldn't be there, torturing herself further. There was nothing she could actually do. All this would accomplish would be to cause her more hurt.

And then he was gone.

She waited enough to be satisfied that he wasn't going to return, long enough for her heart to leave her throat and descend back into her empty cage of a chest. Then she slipped out of the doorway and back down to the street, making her way through black alleyways to the ledge.

The original reason for her night time excursion lay folded neatly in the bottom of the trunk. She removed the leather coat Cullen had worn to her house and pulled it on over the cloak, breathing deeply into the collar and trying to catch a wisp of his scent.

There was a small flutter as something dropped off the top of the pile and into her lap. Her fingers searched in the darkness, and quickly fumbled over the culprit: a soft, tiny flower. Fresh and intact, it could only have been left there very recently. Avery forced herself to stay in place, fighting the urge to run back to the compound, to burst through the gates without a care and reclaim Cullen for herself. He would probably even come to her willingly, probably sneak away in the night for an hour or two, only to possibly make them have to scramble for another explanation.

 _If meeting at the ledge is all we have, that's better than nothing isn't it?_

But the arguments in her mind, the images of the nooses at the Gallows were as strong as every other impulse she had. If she could resist grabbing him when he was only feet away, she could resisting running the length of the Docks. It was too late for them anyway. With them apart, he was safe. She would be miserable, for a time at least, until she and Fenris fled the city and she could fully immerse her mind elsewhere. And even then, she couldn't fathom the possibility that she'd ever completely cease thinking of him, aching for him. But Cullen at least would live.

She took in a few tired, sobbing breaths and draped the blanket from the trunk over her lap. She dropped back against the wall behind the bench, drifting off into a daze as she fingered the tiny, delicate leaves and petals. What she truly needed were his arms, his lips. His voice. But the flower would suffice, because he had left it. His fingers had plucked it from its little crack or nook, or wherever the thing had foolishly decided to try to grow. The vise around her heart tightened and the vast expanse of stars blurred before her eyes.

Morning came fast and hard, bringing with it a stiff neck and a throbbing skull. She jolted awake as she felt herself falling, sliding down the wall and onto her side. Apparently all the sleep she'd gotten the last two days hadn't allowed her to stay awake as the sun rose, or perhaps it was just all the whiskey. Her breath came in icy clouds, but the leather jacket had kept her warm enough. She stood to stretch, massaging loose all the kinks and cramps in her neck, and sending a strong blast of healing to her head to ease the hangover.

She vaguely remembered putting two Templars to sleep outside the compound and she cursed at the memory. She cursed again as she realized that in order to make her way home, or anywhere outside the Docks, she'd have to pass the compound again. A rush of panic surged through her and she began quickly replacing the jacket and blanket, preparing to rush back through the Docks while it was still early, hoping that most of the Templars were still… having breakfast or whatever it was that they did first thing in the day. She might have had the foolish, drunken idea to stand outside the compound in the night and listen, but the last thing she actually wanted to do was _see_ him. Not so soon when the wound was still so raw. Just the thought of it made her feel a little bit like she was suffocating.

Thankfully, she was wearing the cloak. She pulled the hood over her head and walked quickly through the streets, hoping to breeze past the compound without anyone being the wiser. The morning air smelled like fish and decay, and many more people were moving about in the streets than she expected. Morning time at the Docks always was the busiest time of day, the time when ships were getting ready to leave the harbor and merchants and traders were flooding in for the day's work. It could be a good thing, she hoped. More people to lose herself within. Of course it could also mean that the Templars themselves were already out and about.

As if reading her mind, a flash of metal caught the corner of her eye and she glanced in its direction, seeing an unknown Templar with red hair deep in conversation with an older fishmonger. Avery thrust her hands in her pockets and tried to lower her head further, conscious of the fact that it probably made her look a little suspicious, but once she was free from the Docks she could remove her hood and act normal again. She just needed to get out of the Docks.

Three blocks away, and then two blocks away. When the compound entrance was visible she increased her pace practically to a sprint. There was no one in the pathway, not even the usual guards, and the stairs to Lowtown loomed close, the tall ridges of the distant Vimmarks rising high above in the distance. She let out a relieved breath, thinking for a split second that she might be in the clear.

Until a whole procession of gleaming bodies streamed out of the entrance, turning and walking right toward her. She raised her eyes to take in the spectacle, and immediately wished she hadn't.

It was too late to turn back. She was already halfway toward the stairs, and turning back would just throw extra suspicion on top of the cloak and the fact that she was practically running. She winced, knowing she had no choice but to keep walking, take step after step until she passed Cullen and the rest of them. She vowed silently that this would be the last time she ever came to the Docks without absolute need. Of course he was always here, he was heading up the base, a base which only housed a handful of Templars to begin with. She sighed heavily and continued forward, trying to keep her head down, trying not to look directly into those amber eyes, feeling the awareness of him send prickles down her skin and fire up a buzzing in her ears. She heard the moment his melodic voice paused in surprise and she turned her face away. She would not look. She would not look.

"Champion?" She kept walking. The voice wasn't his, it was Meredith's. Somehow she had missed that the Knight-Commander was among the regiment of Templars. Avery supposed it made sense, since far more Templars were currently marching down the walkway than what the compound housed. Surely they'd all come over from the Gallows with Meredith, and probably had some nefarious mission they were about to embark upon. They were still a few meters in front of her. She could pretend it wasn't her, pretend she couldn't hear and keep walking.

"Champion!" Meredith barked this time. Reluctantly, she came to a stop, trying to ease the nervous heaving of her stomach, trying not to purge a night's worth of whiskey onto their boots. The palpitations of her racing heart were resounding heavily through her bones, making her feel transparent and insubstantial. With a sigh, she looked up. Her eyes flicked momentarily over a face that looked pale, almost as sick as she felt. There was not a trace of humor in the sad eyes. His face might have been made of stone, and yet still it held such beauty as to feel like a physical punch to an already sore gut. Quickly she broke her eyes away and looked at Meredith.

"Sorry, what?" Avery asked, managing somehow to feign nonchalance. She balled her hands into fists in her pockets, trying to keep her trembling under control. At least if she could feel a little less broken, she might look and sound like it too.

Meredith narrowed her eyes as she inspected Avery's long black cloak, but said nothing. The group of Templars waited patiently behind her, while the blurry image of Cullen burned in Avery's peripheral vision. She forced her eyes to stay in place, wanting so badly to look at him again, and wanting so badly for him to just keep walking. Just remove the temptation and put her out of her misery.

"I need your assistance with something, if you'll kindly stop and speak with me in the Gallows later this afternoon," Meredith said. Avery almost laughed. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but that wasn't it. Probably something closer to a commentary on her appearance, or her hurried sprint through the streets.

"Why not. It's not like I have better things to do than sit on a boat for an hour just to pop by your office." Avery could feel Cullen's gaze, could vaguely see that the dark hollows of his eyes had been trained unflinchingly on her from the moment she'd stopped. Avery swallowed hard, trying to will her roiling stomach to calm down.

"Of course I do realize you probably already have commitments, but it is important, and time sensitive. Your assistance would be appreciated." As she spoke, Avery briefly understood how Meredith had been able to inspire such loyalty, at least during the moments she was speaking sense. The clear blue eyes and gentle but uncompromising tone were somehow both hard and… not at the same time. Her request felt like a true beseeching for help and not a demand, despite the fact that the conversation began by Meredith barking her name. But Avery also knew well enough that the softness was deceiving.

Avery nodded. "Sure. Later though, as I do have some things to take care of today."

"Very well. Thank you, Champion."

Avery's gaze flew to Cullen in direct disobedience to her desires. She found his dark eyes waiting for hers, deep and quiet, and she broke away quickly, trying not to gawk at the finely curved lines of his lips, the enticing set of his jaw. She gave an almost imperceptible nod and turned on her heel, needing to get out of proximity before she cried, or screamed, or accidentally engulfed the whole lot of them in flames.

As she climbed the stairs, she realized that visiting the Gallows later meant yet another trip past the damned compound.

* * *

Anders' clinic door was closed, but low booming crashes sounded from within. Avery raised an eyebrow, meeting Fenris' eyes in alarm.

"Did you talk to him at all while I was gone?" she asked.

"Only the day you left. Not since."

"Not getting along again I take it?"

"Something like that. He has also made himself very unavailable."

Avery grasped the handle to the door and eased it open. Light streaked into the dank clinic, illuminating motes of dust that spun vortexes around their movements like snowflakes in a blizzard.

Once her eyes adjusted, she saw a number of candles burning the last of their wicks. In the corner hunched a skinny, bedraggled figure, his glowing blue eyes cast angrily in her direction.

"Anders was not expecting you. Is there a reason for this intrusion?" Justice demanded as they made their way deeper within. What had once been an actual clinic treating the wounds of refugees now seemed to be have become a repository for old magical tomes, stacked between mountains of melted candle wax. One table held an alchemy set, a confusion of bowls filled with herbs and dust surrounding an elaborate set of burners and half filled vials. The busiest table held what was clearly the ongoing manifesto, having grown to a size that rivaled even the thickest tome in the place.

"You two have been busy," Avery remarked as she moved a stack of papers off a rickety wooden chair and sat. Fenris hovered close behind her, his scowl practically audible.

"That does not answer the question, mortal." Justice growled as he moved closer, bringing with him the sickly blue glow that streamed out of broken open veins.

"Well, how about you try asking a little more nicely? You catch more flies with honey and all that…" Avery said.

"You speak nonsense." Justice stalked quickly across the room, towering over Avery. "And you interrupt an important task. State your intentions or leave."

"An important task? Really? Because it kind of just looks like a big mess."

"That does not concern you."

"So this is all for the potion? Or is there more to it?"

Justice jerked his head to the side, an act Avery recognized as an internal dialogue happening between him and Anders. He stood eerily still for a long moment.

Avery hoped they'd hurry up. She was ready for the whole day to just be over already. After the bone pit would be the Meredith's office in the Gallows, two of her least favorite places in the Marches. At least in the bone pit she'd get to try out the mage staff she'd acquired at the Hightown market. She'd even had some sinister looking blades attached, to ensure the staff could remain an instrument of death even when silenced.

"Come on Justice," she sighed. "Just let Anders out to play. Unless you two really don't want that drakestone."

Justice's head jerked back to face her, and slowly the glowing blue began to recede. When Anders was Anders again, his expression immediately changed to one of relief.

"You're back!" He knelt down before her, looking her over. "Where did you go? Why did you not take anyone with you? I heard you were injured."

She was stunned for a moment. She'd been expecting much more anger, but all she saw was a gaunt, stubbly face filled with concern.

"You did? A Templar contact I assume?

"That's right. She said you were due back much earlier, but an injury kept you out. Hawke, what were you even out there for in the first place? By yourself with a bunch of Templars!?"

"I asked the same thing," grumbled Fenris.

Avery shrugged. She wondered how different it all would have gone if she had taken them along. There'd have been no mountain town retreat for her and Cullen, but maybe more lives could have been saved.

"I was trying to peacefully retrieve some apostates. Turned out they were kids, abandoned by a larger group. One turned into an abomination and almost everyone died. Except me and…"

"Prince charming?" Anders interjected. "He nursed you back to health, did he? It's so strange, you'd think he'd be just as eager to get rid of you as Meredith. He has not been particularly forgiving of other mages."

"I guess. But whether it was me or anyone else, the Knight-Captain… is not cold blooded. He does have a conscience," she answered.

"And a raging crush," Anders snorted. "He was probably just overjoyed at the opportunity to gawk at you for five days."

Avery shrugged, casting her eyes down to her feet.

"I suppose I should go thank him."

"You?" she asked incredulously, "For what?"

"For bringing you back. Keeping you safe. I don't know what we would have done if you'd never come home."

Avery almost laughed again, but the seriousness in his voice stopped her. She couldn't tell them that if things had gone a little differently, she wouldn't have. And it wouldn't be because she was dead. Looming over her were the large brown and green eyes of her friends. Former lovers they might be, evicted from her home and her bed, and still they looked to her with such concern and affection. Another pang of deep guilt washed over her. She'd chosen not to acknowledge how selfish running away with Cullen would have been, but it was impossible not to see it now. And yet, still, if she'd had the chance….

She shook the thoughts away. It really was time for her to try harder, be a better friend for those people in her life who stuck with her through thick and thin.

"Well, here I am. In one piece, thanks to Knight-Captain Cullen."

His name felt strange on her tongue. She'd said it so many times, while alone in the night, and to Cullen himself. It sounded different, _felt_ different now.

"Anyway. Hey, is there a mage in the Circle right now named Petra?" she asked, thinking of Jorah's sister. At the very least she could inform her of Jorah's fate. Surely she'd be worried sick about two kids left alone in the cave with limited food and water.

"Petra was hanged over a week ago, along with several others," Anders said matter-of-factly.

"Why!?"

"The same excuse as always. I helped her with her first escape over a year ago, and then she became involved in the underground. When that dissolved she took off with some others. I don't know if she herself had turned to blood magic, but those she was traveling with had. They pretty much sealed her fate."

Avery growled and stood up angrily, stomping a circle around the room. Those kids probably would have met the same fate whether they'd stayed in the cave or returned to Kirkwall. Death by starvation or death by association. Both were still death. At least Ser Bennet had been taken out. Anders calmly walked over to the table that held his manifesto, and began closing books and covering loose pages.

Rage flowed through her like a waft of smoke, acrid and energizing. Her connection to the Fade buzzed with pent up magic, needing to be loosed before it spilled out of its own volition. Her anger was a wild beast, lashing out in every direction her mind traveled and overpowering her melancholy. She thought back to the brief conversation with Meredith a few hours before and railed furiously at her own weakness, at the small moment she'd softened toward the woman simply because the request Meredith had made was delivered nicely. Meredith didn't deserve her softness. Even Cullen probably didn't, not truly, considering his passive assistance in furthering Meredith's fucked up agenda. Whether he agreed with it or not, doing nothing about it was in many ways the same as supporting it. The same as she had been doing nothing.

She sighed. There was little room for thoughtful internal argument when so many energies were clawing at her mind and body, crying out to be spent.

"Are you ready to go to the bone pit?" she asked Anders with more sharpness than she'd intended. "I need to kill something."


	18. Chapter 18

I'm deliberately glossing over the main missions of the game, because I don't really feel the need to type out a scene that we've all already watched (some of us repeatedly) while playing. Though obviously the conversations with Anders are too important to omit.  
My deepest, heartfelt thanks to everyone who've stuck with me thus far. Your comments and support mean the world to me. :) 3

* * *

There was still an hour until the boat was due to leave the Gallows and go back to Kirkwall, so Avery didn't hurry on her way out of Meredith's office. She visited Solivitus for a while and checked out the merchants, while noting a definite increase in the number of Tranquil lingering about. Her eyes were repeatedly drawn back to the spot where Cullen used to stand guard, during the moments he wasn't doing other Knight-Captainy things. She wondered briefly what he knew about the Templars Meredith had just discussed, mage sympathizers who had deliberately destroyed a bunch of phylacteries, allowing numerous mages to go free. She figured it was most likely that resistance that Cullen had mentioned in the storage room weeks ago, and that she repeatedly failed to follow up on since talking business with Cullen had fallen decidedly to the wayside after that point.

Three more mages, suspected maleficarum, running amok somewhere in Kirkwall. Despite her failure at bringing home Sadie and Jorah, Meredith wanted her to go after these others. Only this time she could do it on her own, with her own people. No Templars accompanying that could completely muck everything up. "So you can see what I'm dealing with," Meredith had said. But Avery knew that she was not going to bring any of the mages back. If they were blood mages, they'd be killed. If they weren't blood mages… then she'd say they had been. But Avery was afraid that they would be. So many of them were now.

Finally she made her way past the day's crop of swinging lifeless bodies, displayed as a warning for mages, Templars and civilians alike, and featuring a few of each. Their ropes creaked as the breeze pushed them around like pendulums on strings, and Avery couldn't bear to watch. She'd given them a good, hard look on her way in, and let the anger they inspired out in her conversation with Meredith, but the macabre way they danced with the wind made the bile rise in the back of her throat. She kept her eyes deliberately averted until she reached the dock for the boat.

When the creaks of twisting ropes were replaced with the sounds of slapping waves, she looked up.

"Maker's breath," she sighed.

"That's funny, I was just thinking about the Maker," Cullen said. "And you."

Almost instantly Avery's body was flooded with nerves, that peculiar chemical cocktail of excitement and anxiety that Cullen seemed to inspire. She'd thought she'd gotten lucky when she passed the compound after returning, exhausted and exhilarated from the bone pit, and set on her way to the Gallows to speak to Meredith as requested. But clearly it wasn't luck that had let her slip past unnoticed. He simply hadn't been there.

"Oh?" she asked as she kicked at a rock, keeping her back turned to the swinging bodies and her eyes cast to the ground. They were the only two waiting for the ferry across the channel, obviously absurdly early, though several private boats rocked over the waters while their owners worked within.

"I was thinking about how often you and I seem to run into each other randomly around the city. Such as right now, for example. I certainly did not expect that I'd be sharing a boat back to Kirkwall with you. One could begin to think it due to some sort of divine providence."

Avery snorted. "Or it could simply be the fact that we live in a small city."

"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully, "But there is no one else in the small city that I just happen to see as often as you."

She swallowed, gazing intently back toward the hazy Kirkwall skyline. "Maybe there are others and you just haven't noticed them."

"That is a fair point. I do… _look_ for you," he answered, pausing. "Or maybe the Maker simply puts us together. For whatever reason."

This time Avery's snort turned into a full on laugh. She stole a glance into Cullen's face, nervous for an instant that she might offend him with her reaction to his idea, but she saw only a wry, half smile.

"That would make for one very cruel Maker."

Cullen was quiet as he thought about it, the slight curl to his lips slowly fading away.

"Yes, I suppose so," he said.

Avery couldn't help but watch him in the corner of her vision, even as she tried desperately to avoid getting sucked into the honeyed shimmer of his eyes. He stood tall and strong, his movements subtle but sure. If she'd been free to, she'd nuzzle right up into the creamy flesh of his neck, breathing him in and scoring her lips across the stubble of his jaw. A cruel Maker indeed.

"You've been fighting today," he observed, gesturing to the bridge of her nose. The blood she'd smeared there during the hours she'd spent brutalizing spiders and dragonlings at the bone bit must not have flaked off completely yet.

She nodded quietly, still feeling the deep satisfaction of having purged all the pent up magic out of her bones. Her limbs were loose, her mind was clear, or at least clearer than it had been for a while. The fight had been a sort of meditation, filling her with purpose and clarity.

"I've never seen anyone use blood in that manner before you. As warpaint," he said quietly. "It's a bit morbid, yet it's also… oddly becoming on you."

Avery instantly became very aware of the smear. As it had dried it pulled tightly on her skin and occasionally itched a little, but she'd become so used to it over the last few hours that she no longer noticed those things. But now she felt it, a streak of dried death across her face.

"I've always wanted to tell you that, actually," he said.

"Always?" she asked curiously, finally meeting his eyes. She fell into them, those familiar pools of brown and gold that instantly warmed her, magnetizing her toward him. It took effort to keep her body from drifting toward his, wanting to stand closer, to find his warmth within the vast expanse of space around them. Wanting to find the solace in his arms that she had gotten used to for such a short time. She broke eye contact and took a deep breath, steeling herself into place.

"Well, for a while, at least. You're the only woman I've ever seen who actually looks more beautiful after a bloody fight."

She squeezed her eyes shut, and turned her face away from him.

"I'm sorry, love. I know saying things like that doesn't make this any easier. I can't seem to help myself." His voice was a sad rasp, almost a whisper.

He sighed. "I'll just be quiet."

There were people in sight everywhere, streaming in and out of the Gallows, standing in small clusters around the outer walls. The other boats tied to the dock were a bit further out, but they rocked occasionally with movement. There was no one nearby who could hear them, though everyone could see.

"Some Templars destroyed some phylacteries, and let a few mages go free. On purpose. Do you know anything about that?" she asked.

"No. I am not at all surprised, considering some of the rumblings I heard before I took the post at the compound. But being there keeps me a little bit out of the loop on some things. I'm glad for it actually. The compound is more peaceful."

She nodded.

"The peacefulness doesn't seem to be helping you sleep. The shadows around your eyes are back." She looked up into his face again. As weary as the purple bruising around his eyes made him look, it only increased the vividness of his amber irises. The two colors were strangely complementary.

She absentmindedly fingered her amber ring, a habit she'd seemed to have gotten into anytime she thought about him. She'd considered taking the thing off and stowing it away somewhere, so she wouldn't find herself staring into the changing brown and gold tones, thinking about Cullen's face when he smiled at her, his eyes when they were soft and loving, or when they were dark and wild with passion. But she hadn't been able to bring herself to so much as take the thing off. It had only been three days since their return, but eventually she knew she'd have to, if only to be kind to herself.

She glanced quickly at his left hand. His ring was gone.

"The lack of sleep has nothing to do with my location," he said, looking intently into her face and not noticing where her own gaze had strayed. It probably would have been too conspicuous for him to keep on.

"Right," she responded.

All the feelings she was trying to block out began to slip through the cracks of her control. Her chest bloomed brightly with an aching tightness. She longed to reach out and touch his face, to run her finger down his cheek as she kissed him tenderly. He didn't look away, the brown depths of his eyes communicating a deep, matching sadness to her own. Somehow they were standing closer, even as she'd been trying so hard to keep a safe cushion of distance between them. Her memory was flooded with the scenes of their time in each other's arms. She could faintly smell him, that scent of his that traveled like lightning to her gut, riling up every primal impulse in her body, the urge to touch, to kiss, to make love. The tension between them was almost a separate physical entity, an elastic tether that would snap them together the moment either of them let up their resistance.

"Would you really have left with me? Just run away and not come back?" he asked softly.

A vision of Fenris and Anders flashed behind her eyes, their faces filled with relief and worry. Also Varric, and Brutus, with their constant support and good humor. All cherished friends, all so important to her success during her years in Kirkwall.

"Yes," she answered eventually. "I would have wanted to bring my dog, and write some letters to my friends. Maybe come back _someday_. But yes, I would have."

"I'm a fool aren't I?" he asked. Somehow he'd gotten even closer. Avery took a deep breath, and a step back, looking around at the people in the distance, reassuring herself they weren't being scrutinized by numerous prying eyes.

"You have commitments, and you're holding to them. I respect that. I _admire_ that," she began. "But yes, if you want to know. You are a damned fool."

"I miss you, Avery," he whispered. She chanced another glance at his face, at his impossibly beautiful damned face. "It's only been three days but… I am really struggling. I love you so much it hurts."

"Me too," she sighed.

He turned and looked deliberately at the bodies swinging in front of the Gallows entrance, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Then he turned back, his eyes sweeping sadly across her face as he moved to stare into the Kirkwall skyline.

"I honestly don't know which is worse. The threat of that," she said nodding at the gruesome display of death behind them, "or… this."

"This? You mean standing here with me?"

"Standing here with you and not being able to touch you." She winced at her words. She shouldn't be encouraging this…the continuation of this longing. She should be stamping it out. She should be staying strong.

He snorted. "Tell me about it. If we were free I would…" he stopped himself.

Avery didn't want him to finish the statement, but also desperately wanted him to. She should ask him not to continue, not to keep making this so much harder for both of them. She should ask him to just stand there in silence until the boat finally came and they could go their separate ways. That would be the kind thing, the reasonable thing for them both to do.

"What?" she asked instead.

"I would be kissing you, slow and hard, until you make those little noises that you make," he said.

She almost moaned at just the thought. She bit her lip and shifted her weight on her feet, suddenly aware of every inch of her own body.

"Oh?" she breathed. She turned her back to the Gallows, to the scattered groups of people in the distance behind them, and closed her eyes, letting the memory of Cullen's exquisite kisses wash over her.

"We never had much in the way of a last kiss, you know."

"I know," she answered sadly.

"We still could… I know we shouldn't, but we _could_."

For a moment she was lost, her mind immersed in a scene of strong arms, grasping hands and a beautiful mouth.

"Not here we can't," she said.

"I know, but… I have been able to get away these last few days. At noon. You could meet me." His sultry voice contained a glimmer of hope, a seductive entreaty that she knew would echo in her mind for days to come.

"You know it wouldn't stay just a kiss," she said. It hadn't stayed just a kiss in her mind. It had moved into shuddering scenes of bare skin upon bare skin.

"It wouldn't be just one kiss. It would be a collection of many. I would kiss your lips, your neck, your breasts. And lower. I would want to taste every delicious inch of you, until you cried out my name."

She actually did moan then, her body flooded with a tingling warmth that streamed directly to the awakened center between her legs. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, trying to snap herself out of it. The world came crudely back into focus, crisp blue sky over brown water and a hazy, jagged skyline. So much uglier than the picture behind her eyelids. Headed directly toward them, the little sailboat that would ferry them back to Kirkwall.

"Meet me Avery," he whispered. His voice over her shoulder was closer, impossibly rich and enticing. "Please. Just one last time, and I'll never ask you to again."

Other voices were approaching, people who'd begun making their way to the dock now that the boat was visible. She heard him step away from her, clearing his throat as he resumed a safe distance. She turned to see several commoners joining them on the dock, slowly meandering the length of the wooden walkway as they continued their conversation uninterrupted. She glanced at Cullen and saw his cheeks flushed pink. His eyes burned back at her, smoldering with desire and a secret, shared knowing. Getting a lungful of air was a struggle, as was staying steady on her weakened legs. Between her thighs was a raw, aching heat, fired up to an insistent, unsustainable level. Her body remembered him, _demanded_ him.

The boat ride back was an especially long one. Sitting so close to Cullen, looking at him and not being able to obey the tantalizing allure of his skin, his lips, imagining him doing all the things to her that he wanted to, that she wanted - desperately, urgently wanted - it was a special kind of agony. The tension was so palpable she was sure everyone on the boat could feel it. When strange eyes glanced at her she felt heat creep up her cheeks, convinced that they could tell exactly what sorts of things she was thinking, certain that they all noticed the dark, saturated looks passing back and forth between the mage and the Templar.

She tried to breath through it as the boat rocked and swayed its way back to Kirkwall, tried to tune into the conversations of the passengers around her, but quickly lost the threads of their stories, pulled sharply from her attempts at distraction by the lingering prodding of her body and the presence of the object of her desires. She silently cursed the Maker. If he was putting them together while at the same time making it impossible for them to act on it, then he was not a Maker who could claim to love his children. In fact, she'd be inclined to think he hated her.

"I'll be there every day. Please come," he whispered quietly as they disembarked. They took a few quiet, strained steps through the Docks together and then once again they were both separated and swallowed up into the bowels of the stinking city.

* * *

Two of the three mages Meredith had asked her to find had been blood mages of the worst sort, conspiring with demons and manipulating their own loved ones to their own ends. Avery, Anders, Fenris and Varric had eagerly put them down, ending their rein of terror with a furious, bloody satisfaction. It took three days to track and deal with all three of them, and the entire time Cullen's offer rang loudly in her mind. At noon the day after the boat ride she was in the elven alienage, talking to the wife of one of the escapees. The sun reached its zenith in the sky and suddenly Avery completely lost her train of thought, stuttering her way through the rest of her questioning as she pictured Cullen sitting alone on their bench. She was so close to the Docks, but with her three friends in tow she couldn't simply drop everything and run to the ledge. She shouldn't even be considering going to the ledge in the first place. Everything about it was just prolonging the possibility of recovery for her demolished heart.

The day after that, she was talking to the two kids who'd at one point been under the care of one of the other escaped blood mages, and shortly after, that mage turned up and transformed into an abomination. The fight with her had been extra strenuous due to lingering exhaustion from their return to the alienage in the wee hours of the morning.

The third was just a braggart of a young man who simply wanted to kiss a girl. Had Avery not been afraid he'd meet a noose regardless of his innocence, she'd have simply encouraged him to return to the Circle on his own. But things being what they were, she told him to high tail it out of Kirkwall, as soon as he'd finished his overnight with one of the tavern wenches. He was a pathetic sort, but certainly not dangerous.

And now it was the fourth day, the sun tauntingly high in the sky, and she was stuck inside Anders' clinic, in the midst of a confusing argument.

"What are you plotting, Anders?" Avery demanded.

"You would not thank me if I told you. If you support freedom for mages , help me. That is all I can say," he answered.

She paced a quick circle around the clinic, noting for the first time how uncharacteristic it was of Anders to let his home become so unorganized. Normally he'd always kept all his possessions in perfect order, and had even become a bit of a pain in the ass about it during the months he lived with her in High town. For the first time, her casual concern for Anders blossomed into something much more dreadful.

Could this all be tied back to Fenris' original complaint that Anders was hiding something? He'd told her before that if he was planning to do anything, he'd let her know. Had she not given him opportunities to talk to her about it? Maybe if she hadn't disappeared for five days, maybe if she had been around more…

But he'd always tried to protect her, to keep her separate from his incriminating activities, even when they were at their closest.

"And just what do you want me to talk to Elthina about, exactly?" she asked.

"Food? The Weather? What does it matter?" he snapped. "No wait, talk of mages. Give her one final chance to hear what we have suffered. To pick a side."

"One final chance? Just what in the void does that even mean?"

"I can't tell you. I won't, I'm sorry. But maybe you could still help. Perhaps she'll actually be inclined to listen to you."

She sighed, feeling hairs begin to stand up on the back of her neck.

"Anders, just what is it that you don't want me to know?

"You said you believe in me, again and again. Trust me now. I am doing only what is necessary."

Avery growled, practically speechless with frustration. She stomped around, fingering the covers of books and trying not to pick one up and throw it at him.

"What this ever about you and Justice?" she demanded, "Or have you lied this whole time?"

"I lied," he said simply. "There is no potion. But what I am doing will help more than just me and Justice. It will bring freedom to mages throughout all of Thedas. That is worth a lie as far as I'm concerned."

"Anders…" Avery tried to calm herself, deciding to try a softer approach and see if that might work to pry a little bit more information out of him. "I want to help you, you know that. But I can't act blindly. Please, tell me your plan."

"No. I am taking a great risk, and I will not see you drawn into it," he said, his face screwing up into a snarl. "Maybe you simply don't support your own people after all. You've remained removed from this whole conflict, just like Elthina has. All your so-called support has been largely lip service." Avery bristled, feeling her head grow light with rising adrenaline.

"Don't pretend like you don't understand my hesitance to get too involved, despite all this revolutionary rhetoric you're spewing. You yourself have gone on and on about how mages are all their own worst enemy. We both know that's true. Mages as a whole are not beyond reproach, including me and including you."

"This is precisely why I have to do this, Hawke! Something bigger than all of us needs to happen. And I need your help. If you are my friend the way you have always claimed, then you will support me. You can't claim that and not help me now. This is what I live for. There is nothing else inside me but the cause of mages."

Avery stalked away, continuing to pace angrily around the room. She rubbed at the dried blood over her nose, seeing flakes of red pepper her fingers when she pulled her hand away.

"Will you aid us, Hawke? Or does your support stop at the chantry door?" he called from across the clinic. She glared at him disapprovingly. He had always been against mages using blood magic, so surely he must believe that whatever he was going to do would help stop that from happening further, as much as it might also, somehow, win mages some freedom. She growled again, wishing he would just bloody tell her what it was.

"Tell me what you would have of me then," she spat. "But I will not forget that you blackmailed me to get it."

He sighed, relieved and dropped down into a chair. "I promise, whatever happens will be all on me. It will not come back to you. Go to the chantry, talk to the Grand Cleric. I will join you when I am done."


	19. Chapter 19

Avery's words to Elthina echoed loudly in her ears as she and Anders walked away from the Chantry. She hadn't been sure how she thought it might go, but she'd never expected that she might come away feeling a little glad that Anders was enacting some mysterious plan.

Elthina gave her far too much credit in the grand scheme of things, apparently never noticing their shared reluctance to pick sides. Avery almost laughed out loud when Elthina accused her of "fanning the flames of rebellion here."

"Tell that to Anders!" She'd almost said. But instead she bit her tongue and stayed silent. Elthina's large grey eyes were already stormy with worry, and it was clear enough that any attempt at humor would likely fall flat. The grand cleric had aged noticeably over the past few years and had only just tolerated Avery's attempts at joking around with her in the first place. But maintaining one's neutrality throughout all the conflict was clearly taking its toll, a struggle with which Avery could deeply sympathize, and the tone of their conversation had been an unbearably somber one.

"Both make good points, both have flaws." Elthina had said. Avery nodded, glad to hear someone that did not try to distort that point for a change.

"For a thousand years the Chantry has had to find the balance between them. That hasn't changed here," continued Elthina. Avery considered those words and frowned.

"But your Grace, balance is exactly what doesn't exist right now, and doing nothing isn't going to solve that. To find balance requires some kind of action, does it not?" Avery asked. "Considering the massive amount of power that the Templars currently hold over mages, your voice in the mage's favor _would_ be a move toward restoring balance."

Elthina sighed and shook her head.

"The only action I can take at this point is to allow Meredith and Orsino time to work out their differences. No good can come from showing favor to one side."

"Work out their differences?" Avery scoffed. "Do you really think that will ever happen? Meredith's position in this directly depends upon maintaining those differences. Can you really see her giving that up now that's she's basically got this whole city under her thumb?"

Elthina's lips drew tight, but she said nothing.

"If you will not speak on behalf of mages to that _tyrant_ , then the mages don't stand a chance. Our fate is already sealed," Avery had said. "The Chantry is dooming us all."

"It is not that simple, Champion. I do not support the Knight-Commander's methods, but I cannot take sides. We are all the Maker's creatures, but magic allows abuses beyond the scope of mortals. I only hope I can balance the needs of everyone, for if it comes to war it is the people of this city who will lose."

"You are balancing nothing, and the people are already losing. You don't think they too suffer already? Have you not heard about the raids to people's homes in fruitless searches for nonexistent apostates? Do you not see the commoners sharing nooses with mages and Templars in the Gallows? People accused of harboring apostates, sometimes falsely. Sometimes the apostates they're harboring are their own children that they are too afraid to send to the Circle. Under other circumstances those apostates might all go to the Circle willingly, but right now they won't _because of Meredith_. Perhaps you should get out of the Chantry more often, your Grace. There is no balance, there is only a power hungry Knight-Commander steamrolling over the rights of every single other person in this city!"

Anders had a glint in his eye as he finally approached, his task apparently completed. Clearly he approved of the passion that had crept into Avery's voice as she spoke with Elthina. She hadn't expected to end up arguing with so much fervor, as she'd actually secretly meant to warn Elthina that Anders was up to something. But despite her own enduring reluctance to take a strong stand, she realized somewhere in the middle of their conversation that she was convincing herself more than she was the Grand cleric. Everything that she had said was true. The balance of power was swung so far in Meredith's favor at this point that doing anything other than acting on behalf of the mages would only enable Meredith to be victorious in her cruel agenda.

"There you are," Anders eventually cut in, "I've been looking for you everywhere."

For some indiscernible reason, she found herself walking all the way back to Anders' clinic with him, even though all she wanted was a bath and to go to bed. She'd spent the night before out in the streets investigating Orsino's claim of a secret meeting between mages and Templars (and getting summarily attacked for the effort), and the early morning retrieving Fenris from captors on the Wounded Coast, only to allow Anders to cajole her into going straight to the Chantry to talk to Elthina. She was dirty and exhausted. It was the longest day in a whole procession of long days. Eight days since she'd returned to Kirkwall with Cullen. Five days since she'd ridden with him on the boat from the Gallows. Each day had been a fight in so many ways, a fight to stay alive, a fight to resist her own foolish impulses, a fight not to let her mind linger over the person she desired and the fact that he was waiting for her to come to him one last time. Eight days of constant fighting and she didn't have much energy left to continue. Something had to break.

Avery glowered on the walk back while Anders practically beamed. He closed the door to the clinic behind them and sauntered through the room igniting flames upon the candles with a flourish of his fingers. Eventually he circled around to face her again, his eyes startlingly wild

"I cannot tell you how good it feels for a spirit to fulfill his function! The waiting is over. I am finally seeking justice. And he is exultant!"

She crossed her arms and stood there, a confusion of questions on the tip of her tongue. His body was uncharacteristically loose, and he laughed giddily.

"If I didn't know better, I would think you were a little drunk," she sighed sardonically. She had to admit that part of her wanted to share in his revelry. He at least was doing something. That was more than she could claim.

"This is so much better than just being drunk, Hawke. There is no ecstasy humankind can feel to match."

"Well perhaps you should bottle that stuff. You could make a fortune."

"Ha. I don't think most people would be willing to pay the price. But I'd share it with you if I could."

She relaxed a little, uncrossing her arms and pushing a stack of books back so she could lean back on the table. "So now that it's apparently all done, will you tell me what you did?"

"No," he answered firmly. "It's better for you not to know. You just keep… Championing, or whatever it is you do nowadays."

Avery snorted. "Whatever it is I do nowadays? So now that I'm done being a pawn in your little plan, I'm dismissed? Just like that?"

"No, I don't mean that. I appreciate everything you've done for me. But aligning yourself with me too closely is not the best way to serve our cause now. It would be better for you to keep your distance."

Avery sighed. "And what if I _wanted_ to help?"

"There is nothing left to do now but wait, Hawke," he said, his voice softening. He closed the distance between them, his smirk spreading into an unexpectedly warm smile. "You have already done so much. I feared you would abandon me after everything that happened with Fenris… but you've continued to be my friend, and for that I thank you. Even Justice bows to you for the faith you have shown us. A victory for the mages will be a victory for you."

"I hope you're right about that," she sighed, still bristling inwardly with frustration. Anders raised a slender hand to caress the apple of her cheek. It was a gesture of affection he used to indulge in when they had been lovers, and Avery wasn't sure what it was supposed to mean.

"I am. The war will happen. The clock is ticking down," he said.

She backed away from him and frowned. As nice as the touch felt, it wasn't coming from the right person.

"Please tell me Anders. Whatever it is…I agree with you that something needs to be done… But this… whatever you're doing, it's not going to hurt people, is it?"

"I've told you before Hawke, I am doing what is necessary. You'll see for yourself soon enough."

The entrance to the compound was within her sights and she approached with a sour stomach. She'd gotten the idea to swing by while standing in Anders' clinic, and decided to go for it. She and Cullen had only caught quick glimpses of each other over the past five days, glimpses that had hit her like a punch to the gut, and she could only hope that he knew her absence at the ledge had nothing to do with choosing to stay away. She'd simply been too busy.

She'd been glad for that in a way. As trying as the days had been, she'd been able to drop off quickly into sleep after collapsing into bed each night, instead of rolling around uselessly, clutching her pillow and trying to conjure up Cullen's scent in her memory. Sleep was her only respite, as her waking moments remained a constant struggle. She'd tried earnestly to fight her thoughts of him ever since they'd returned, but they were an unending reel in the back of her mind, projected onto the walls of every waking moment of her life, playing in the background despite all attempts to focus. After all her jabbing at herself to quit thinking about him, to quit considering his risky proposal for one last meeting, she was relieved to be giving in, finally. Constantly fighting herself had proven to be the hardest battle of all.

She'd awoken that morning and realized that she'd come to a decision. She'd claim that last kiss from him before it was too late, if it wasn't already. If it wasn't for wanting to spare him the consequences of their affair, if it was only herself she was putting at risk, she'd just say fuck it and abandon all attempts to stay separated completely, until the day inevitably came that she'd have to face her fate.

She was stopped at the stairs to the gate by the guard.

"My apologies Champion, but I need the Knight-Captain's permission to let you in. We've had to increase security after a breach last week," the Templar explained.

"Well it is the Knight-Captain I am here to see any way," she said.

The Templar nodded and barked an order to a third guard standing directly before the gate. She waited, tapping her foot nervously, her stomach roiling with unsettled nerves. She was anxious to see him, feeling oddly wild and reckless. It wasn't the ledge, but she could feign having business to discuss in order to snatch a moment of his time, at least to test out the waters a little. She half expected that he might have already given up on her, that making him wait at the ledge for five days had been a few days too many.

But quickly enough he rounded the corner, his face pale as he offered an impersonal greeting and escorted her inside. She made a point of speaking at a volume audible to other Templars nearby.

"Thank you for seeing me Knight-Captain. I've got an issue of a sensitive nature to discuss with you before I take it to Meredith. I was hoping there might be a place that we could speak privately." She kept her tone clipped as she nodded greetings to several passing Templars.

"Of course. My office is this way," he said, leading the way toward a large, canvas tent in the furthest corner of the compound.

"A security breach?" she asked.

"Yes, some guards at the door claim to have been knocked out in the middle of the night," he answered. "I am sure they just don't want to admit they fell asleep, but still, we can't be too careful."

Avery winced inwardly, but tried not to let it show. "It's got to be tough standing in one spot all night long, in the dark and quiet. I'm sure I'd fall asleep."

"The overnight shifts are only four hours long. They are standard rotation and the men know to be well rested before they begin." He held open the flap to the corner tent and she ducked within.

"Well maybe they were knocked out," she said. "Those sleep spells are doozies."

"I am giving them the benefit of the doubt on the matter."

The spacious interior was dominated by a large wooden desk. A number of scrolls sat beside an oil lantern, and tacked to one khaki colored wall was a large, marked up map of Kirkwall. The back corner of the tent held a small cot. Cullen closed the doorflap and turned to appraise her with a raised eyebrow.

"How can I be of assistance, Champion?" he asked, his face a perfectly neutral mask. It was possible, she realized, that he might actually have thought she was there for business.

She waited a beat, her heart hammering in her chest, before she brought herself close to him and looked deeply into his quiet brown eyes. His mask cracked for a moment, the little wrinkle forming between his brows.

"Am I too late?" she asked softly, raising a hand to slide gently along his jaw. His face broke completely as he exhaled and dropped his head against her hand.

"Well, I was beginning to wonder… " he whispered. "But I know there has been a lot happening. I heard about your elf friend getting taken."

She took another step closer, grazing her hand over his stubble and slipping it past his jaw, wrapping around the back of his neck to comb up through the spun gold of his hair. His skin blazed under her touch, pulsing with the pounding of his heart. His hands warmed her stomach as they pressed their way to the crest of her hips.

"They didn't have him for long," she breathed, tilting her mouth up until it was just inches from his. "They took him to try to get to me. I don't know why. I've hardly taken much of a public stance in this conflict."

"You're an apostate, who protects and shelters other apostates," he answered breathlessly. "That is enough of a stance for most people."

"I suppose," she sighed. "Cullen… tomorrow… can you still get away?"

He nodded, his red-rimmed lids drooping closed, his head lowering further as his lips parted. They shared a breath, their mouths hovering a heartbeat away from a kiss. His skin radiated a woodsy scented warmth. She wanted to collapse completely into his arms, but he beat her to it, his head falling away and landing heavily onto her shoulder as his hands slid up her back and clutched her close to the metal plates of his armor. At the pressure of his embrace, the digging of his face into her neck, everything raw and aching inside her began to drain away, replaced by purpose and relief. In the space between seconds she'd gone from a drifting, exhausted, confused shell of a person to a port in a storm, serving both as anchor and anchored. Cullen was in her arms again. The soft, fragrant hairs at his temples were on her lips, his fingers digging into the flesh of her back, her arms cradling that beautiful head of golden curls. She caressed through his hair and lay kisses on every tiny scar and freckle that she could see, until he turned his face and caught her mouth with his own. She stifled a whimper, her lips mingling and tasting the hot, pillowy softness of his. His tongue sliding against hers was soft and deliberate, igniting a current of electricity that traveled to the furthest reaches of her body.

It ended far too soon, but she knew it had to. This was not the place for the real last kiss, and she shouldn't linger longer than necessary.

"I will make it happen, my love," he answered finally, and she had to take a moment to remember what it was she had even asked.

"Thank the Maker," she breathed.

Morning came fast, and it was the first of nine mornings now that Avery actually welcomed. Whatever else happened that day didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was that she'd see Cullen. She'd give him that real, final kiss that she'd been kicking herself so brutally for missing, a final kiss among other things hopefully, and then after that her own fate didn't matter. If what Anders said was correct, war was coming, and soon. A _real_ war. In that war she would fight, and possibly die, as might those few friends of hers she still saw, as well as Cullen and any remaining mages. She was afraid and tired and indifferent and exhilarated all at the same time. What, she asked herself, was there really left for her to lose anyway? She'd already lost the family she'd sworn to protect. She'd never actually had a future with Cullen, despite the fantasies she nurtured secretly. Her friends remained splintered and distant. She'd had a hand in whatever Anders had done, for good or ill, but yet she'd done very little to actually help her people on her own.

If the end of everything came soon, it might actually be a kindness. But at the very least she would have that last kiss.

She rose and dressed, deliberately picking an outfit that could be easily shed. She'd stopped caring so much about whether she was dressed like a mage or a commoner or anything else. What did it really matter if other mages saw her or looked up to her? Any left outside the Circle were probably blood mages already anyway, and most of those were in hiding themselves. The balance of power lay firmly with the Templars and there was no hope of that changing. It was long past time for her to make a difference, or to care about anything at all.

 _Fuck it. Fuck everything._

She was staring mindlessly out the window to the kitchen and trying to force down some breakfast when Varric walked in.

"Why in the void did Blondie try to give me his pillow?" he asked without saying hello. Avery sat up and frowned. There was only one pillow he could mean.

"He what? That pillow his mother made?"

"That's the one. Said he wanted me to have it." Varric joined her at the table and picked a piece of cheese off her plate. "He planning to off himself or something?"

She frowned further. That could only be tied to whatever it was that he'd done in the Chantry but he'd seemed so ecstatic about that. Not suicidal. But there was that one comment… "I don't think most people would be willing to pay the price."

"I… don't know…" she answered. Her skin prickled with dread. Perhaps he did not expect to survive whatever was coming. Whatever in the void that even was. _Damnit Anders!_

Avery fumed quietly as she went back to staring out the window. The usual morning patrol of Templars was passing by, taking stiff, measured steps as they cast their eyes suspiciously about. There were ominous grey clouds hanging low in the sky, making the house so dark Bodahn had begun lighting candles in all the rooms. It looked like rain, no it looked like a damn _apocalypse_ , but she hoped at the very least it waited to unleash itself until after she'd finally had her time with Cullen.

"And what in the Void is going on with everyone!? First Blondie, and now you too, Hawke?" Varric said. "That look on your face is almost exactly what I saw on Blondie, minus all the blue glowy stuff."

Avery shrugged absentmindedly. _The world is ending, didn't you hear?_

"You two planning to off yourselves together or something?" He said it with laughter in his voice, but worry in his eyes. "Some sort of morbid lover's pact?"

"With Anders?" Avery scoffed. "First of all, he and I are not lovers."

"Oh good. He and Fenris were all on again off again so I wondered if maybe you two…"

"No," Avery cut in, promptly shutting down that line of questioning. "No. And secondly, you know you're the only one I'd make a such pact with, Varric."

Varric snorted. "Well don't hold your breath on that one."

He picked another piece of cheese off her plate, and she slid the whole thing over to him, giving up her attempt at eating..

"Maker, if _you're_ depressed then things really have gone to shit."

"It's been shit for a long time now Varric," she sighed and stood. The thick layer of clouds made it difficult to see the position of the sun, though she knew there had to still be some time to go before noon. It was almost hard to believe there was a sun up there at all. Maybe Cullen might have the same idea to get there early and beat out the storm, or maybe he'd see her passing by. Either way, she figured it wouldn't hurt to go early. She always liked the Waking Sea when it was rough and wild. At least she liked it as long as she remained on solid ground.

"So, what, you're just going to leave me here?" Varric asked as he continued picking at her plate.

"Sorry. I'll be back in a little while. Help yourself to the larders. It's probably better than what you get at the Hanged Man."

Varric shrugged and pulled his chair closer to the table.

The sea was as rough as the image in painting above her fireplace; great dark waves that flashed every shade of blue and grey, crashing into each other and the seawall and sending mists of salty spray onto her face. The cold air was thick and briny, and the grey clouds above her churned and swirled. She found herself appreciating the dismal vision, marveling at how something in the darkness and gloom just felt right. It was as though the world around her was reflecting back a piece of her own internal state. As long as it didn't interrupt her and Cullen, she welcomed the stormy weather and would not have been sad to see it stick around for a while.

She had seen Cullen as she passed the compound and he flashed her a quick, knowing look from a distance. She knew he'd be following along as soon as he could get away, but there was no telling when that might be. She pulled the blanket out of the trunk, and decided she would take the whole thing back to Hightown with her when she left. This would be the last kiss with Cullen, and also the last visit to the ledge. There'd been a number of false endings already, and dragging it out hadn't done anything to ease her misery. Better not to have it here getting soaked by the coming storm, or tempting him to leave her things within it that she would never find. At the very least she could have the leather coat back.

She pulled the blanket around her tightly, feeling strangely numb. The dull ache that settled around her heart was pretty much a permanent feature of her body now, and she accepted it. Embraced it, even. It was one of the few constant things in her life, an invisible dagger lodged irretrievably in the center of her chest, twisting and throbbing.

Steps approached, and her heart lodged itself in her throat. She stood, balling the blanket up onto the bench and waited, each second stretching into eternity as she watched for his body to round the corner. When it finally did, he looked like a ghost, his armor muted and flat in the absence of light, his face pale and gaunt, reflecting his tiredness and the strain of the lyrium. But still there was the face of the man she loved, strong and proud. The ache around her heart swelled and she met him in a fierce embrace, banging hard up against the armor. His mouth found hers immediately, his strong hands gripping her head and bracing her for a devastatingly deep kiss that was as much a statement as an exploration. The sharp tang of lyrium was present on his tongue and somewhere under his skin, the high-frequency hum of it as it flowed through him. He must have taken it just before he left the compound.

Without looking, she began unbuckling his armor, knowing now how to work the primary latches by heart. In three quick moves the cage around his body opened, and slid down one arm to clatter to the ground. Next the arm and shoulder pieces, swept off in two long motions and dropped at either side. He dropped his hands from her head and began fumbling with the the belts and clasps around his hips, breaking shackles loose and letting the whole of it fall around his legs.

Without hesitation he came forward to swallow her up into his body, all broad chest and strong arms, straight back and tender, probing lips burning kisses down her neck. He encircled and possessed every breath of awareness within her, pushing away all sensation of anything not Cullen.

For a long moment they just held each other tightly, their muscles straining at the effort of it. She felt alarmingly small and crushable as she stood inside his considerable strength, and for a rare moment in her life she didn't particularly mind that feeling.

"Avery," he sighed, seemingly saying her name just to hear it. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. She closed her eyes and began kneading away the constant series of knots he stored in his shoulders, hearing him groan as he always did when she massaged him. She pulled up a corona of warmth around her hands and sent them into the tensest spots of his muscles. His arms went limp and loose around her, but didn't let her go.

"How long do we have?" she asked.

Immediately he perked up, pulling his head back to stare sharply into her eyes.

Something was on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated. She waited, hoping he wasn't going to say just a few minutes. _Give us an hour at least,_ she silently begged the Maker. _Please._

"Forever," he said, almost a whisper. "Let's go, love. I changed my mind. Let's leave Kirkwall,"

"What?" she gasped, blinking hard as she replayed the words in her mind. Surely she'd heard them wrong.

"That whole time we were gone the Templars were fine. Maybe they don't really need me. Maybe it doesn't matter if I'm here or not. Please, lets just leave," he said. "I want to be with you."

Her heart began to race, but the proposition just seemed too surreal for her to believe.

"Cullen, are you sure?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes. Do you still want to?"

"Yes," she breathed without hesitation.

"I need two days to wrap up some things, if you can get some lyrium. Perhaps I'll see what happens if I try to wean myself down to a lower dose," he said. She could feel the energy of his decision thrumming through him as he spoke. She mashed her mouth into his, smiling her first smile in eight days through the kiss. Then she pulled back, her head swimming as it processed the plan.

"Two days?"she asked

He nodded, his eyes glinting gold against the dim grey sky.

"Two days, and then we'll leave here together."


	20. Chapter 20

Cullen made good on his promise from the Gallows and gave her a thorough working over with his talented mouth, quickly leaving her spent and quivering against the ledge wall. She pulled him back to a stand after she finished, and felt an electric shiver streak through her as he flashed a wicked half smile and sucked her juices off his fingers. Even outside of the sexual frenzy that had seized them both, she felt newly energized and jubilant, and it was clear that he felt the same. There was an extra current of wildness running through their kisses, a new sense of reckless abandon between them as they flashed dark, excited looks back and forth. She still wasn't entirely sure it all wasn't a dream, but if it was, she was determined to spend the rest of her life sleeping.

She kept herself braced against the wall as she pulled his hips between her eager thighs, her sex still ringing with echoes of Cullen's probing tongue. What had pushed her over the edge so quickly was a glimpse of him stroking himself as he devoured her, suckling on her aching bud as though his life depended on it. There was something about seeing his strong hand wrapped solidly around his own straining cock, unbearably aroused the by the taste of her and unable to wait, that fed directly into her own building desperation. She came while begging for him, reduced to a writhing mass of raw, stinging nerves. She wanted that beautiful cock in her hands, in her mouth, inside her in every which way possible, but he merely quirked a dark eyebrow and held her firmly against the wall with his one free hand, insisting on taking his time between the lips of her sex.

Now finally inside her, her inner walls stretching and expanding around him, he groaned as he bit her shoulder. "I have to get back, love. I don't have much time left."

"You are not leaving here unsatisfied, Cullen."

She bucked and pulled at him, urging his hips to give her the friction that her body was craving, while at the same time opening her connection to the Fade and sucking up a vein of mana. Her fingertips sparked with electricity and she didn't bother to finesse the bolt into a soft stream this time. She thrust her hand between them and unleashed it without moderation, feeling a crash of power that threatened to send her clear through the wall. At first she thought she'd put too much energy into the bolt, but soon realized the crash had been Cullen surging forward, propelled and unwound by an attack of sensation, turning him into a powerful animal that rattled her bones and lifted her straight off the ground with his fervor. She felt teeth and hands and pain and pleasure and a tearing, blistering heat that exploded into blinding white stars behind her eyes. She clutched him back without restraint, feeling curls of scraped off flesh gathering under her fingernails, hearing the hisses and grunts of his release in her ear, his hips pulsing as his seed filled her, carrying just enough of an electrical charge to announce its progression. A memory of impassioned words surfaced unbidden from the depths of her mind and she felt herself smile. _We would make a family. You'd make beautiful babies, Avery._

It wasn't until Cullen pulled his heaving body away from hers that she noticed the storm was breaking open above them. What she'd thought was sweat and sea-spray were in fact the first fat drops of rain.

As she walked hastily away from the ledge her mind was spinning with anticipation; envisioning waking up to him in bed every morning, holding his hand in public, possibly finding a place to make a home together. A future. Something different, completely unrecognizable to her current life. She'd known for a long time that she needed a change of scenery but wasn't aware of exactly how much until she began to feel curiously light and unburdened at the new vista stretching before them. The unadulterated joy was enough to frighten her a little. So much could happen in two days. She could only hope their little window of opportunity didn't slam shut on them before they made it through.

He'd been thinking about it, he said, and the best thing to do would probably be to get out of the Free Marches entirely, and the easiest way to do that was to pay their way onto a ship going south. Despite his dislike of ships, and the fact that he could barely stomach going below deck for all the small, cramped spaces there, putting the Waking Sea between them and Kirkwall seemed to be the most surefire way to get out of the range of recognition. Avery realized with trepidation that this meant that for the first time since the blight, they'd both be returning to Ferelden.

She tried to shield her face from the biting sting of the whipping rain, keeping her head down and her steps quick as she mentally tallied up all the things she'd need to do before they could depart. Consolidate some coin, acquire lyrium, write some letters but arrange to have them delivered several days after her departure so that no one would bother trying to follow her. Find a ship and make sure she could bring Brutus aboard. Try once again to get some information from Anders, in case the repercussions of his mysterious little plan ever came to chase her and Cullen down. Decide which items to bring and which to leave behind, since she wanted to pack light and just purchase any additional clothing or other things on the road. But Ferelden weather would be even colder than the Marches, and the sea crossing could be unpredictable. She wanted to be prepared, but not overpacked.

Bodahn had already mentioned he and Sandal's intent to move on in the weeks to come, with Sandal having been offered a position of some sort in Orlais. She decided as she walked that she would leave her estate in Fenris' care, at least until the time came, whenever that might be, that she returned to Kirkwall. Surely he'd appreciate the fact that her estate wasn't crumbling around him the way his own was. She'd make sure the larders and wine cellar were fully stocked for him, and write letters whenever she could. He at least could be trusted with her location. Varric too.

Her first stop was deeper within the Docks, visiting the shady merchant who fenced items from the end of a dark corridor. She asked him about the possibility of acquiring large amounts of lyrium and he only shrugged, saying he wouldn't even know where to begin to get it in the amount she was requesting. After that was Tomwise in Darktown, whose already large elven eyes got even larger at the sack of coin she pulled from her belt, and larger still when she informed him there was much more where that came from. He offered profuse assurances that he could get as much lyrium as she wanted and she happily left him her entire coinpurse as a downpayment, with the rest rendered upon receipt of the lyrium the following day.

By the time she walked through the door of her estate her head was swimming excitedly with plans. She hummed as she made her way to the vault to take stock of the rest of her coin, smiling as Bodahn pointed out how suddenly chipper she seemed. The blackened midday sky and torrential downpour meant that she could spend the entirety of the day getting her things in order and most likely no one would come calling. Varric had left before she returned, apparently taking along a bottle or two from her stash of liquor. But suddenly it seemed like an entirely new day.

Avery spent the next hour sorting through clothes and various documents, filling her pack with the items she knew she wouldn't use before their departure, and regularly finding herself waylaid in her organizational attempts by bursts of blissful fantasy. Scenes from their time in the mountain town rolled through her mind and as she imagined what life might be like with such scenes becoming commonplace, she found her cheeks aching with the strain of her giddiness. Outside the house, lightning struck and thunder roared, but she danced to it as though it was music. The Templar patrols had ceased passing by her windows, the soldiers probably hunkered down under some awning or canopy and waiting out the rain. Brutus and Sandal warmed themselves by the fire and Avery paused for a moment at the balcony outside her room, looking down at the warm interior of her home, trying to prepare herself to bid it goodbye. Goodbye for a while anyway. The estate would remain hers and would always be here waiting. Maybe 6 months down the road Kirkwall would be different. Maybe a year, maybe two, but however long it would take, her home here, the Amell estate, would remain. If Fenris wanted to leave it behind she was sure Aveline would keep an eye on it. She made a mental note to include that request in her letters.

She was standing in her bedroom with a glass of whiskey in her hand, considering her lack of appropriate seafaring clothing when a figure cleared his throat from her doorway.

"Anders!" she exclaimed, startled.

"Are you... going somewhere, Hawke?" he asked as he eyed the piles of clothing and open pack sitting on her bed. "Planning on taking another trip with Prince Charming?"

Avery's mouth suddenly felt parched and useless. Despite his words and the ice they struck into her heart, Anders' tone was soft. She searched her mind for a retort, something that might throw him off but wouldn't be completely unbelievable… but came up empty. She realized that her struggle to lie to him of all people was probably because he already knew her so well, and would likely see right through any story she invented. He was probably seeing through her already, completely aware that she was fumbling around in her mind for a story.

Instead of answer the accusation, she snorted sardonically. "I didn't realize that my instruction to knock before you entered my home was that unclear."

"I did knock. Nobody answers that bloody door." He leaned against the doorframe with a sour look and crossed his arms. Avery sighed. Now they were both on the defensive and would only continue to antagonize each other. That was how it always went.

"Well what do you need?" she asked, looking back toward her pile of clothes. She'd need to trim at least a quarter of what was laid out if there was going to be room in her pack for anything else.

"I, um. To be honest, I don't know. I just… needed a friend, I guess?" he said. "I don't know how much longer I'll have any friends. Or have anything at all. I thought I'd take the chance to just come and…"

Avery sighed again, and walked over to sit on the edge of her bed. Anders wore a fresh black robe, one that Avery couldn't remember ever seeing before. It made him look pale and thin. Or perhaps he just simply was pale and thin.

"What?" she asked gently.

He shrugged.

"See, saying shit like that is why Varric came to me today asking if you were planning on offing yourself."

He frowned, his russet eyes casting around the room, refusing to meet hers. "I wouldn't call it _planning_ exactly."

"Then what? Is it because of what we did?" she asked, watching his face closely.

"It wasn't _we_ , Hawke. It was me. I told you, it will not come back on your head."

"Could you have done it without me?" she asked.

"I… no."

"Then it was we. No matter what happens, or what other people think, if it hurts people I will know I was at least partially responsible," she insisted, giving voice to the thoughts that had darkened her mind since she'd returned from the Chantry. She'd thought she was glad that Anders was plotting against the sometimes infuriating Grand Cleric, and she actually had been for a few hours. But the more she imagined all the possibilities and outcomes, the more she began to worry.

" I will know," she said again.

"But you shouldn't think that if you didn't even know what it was you were doing to begin with," he argued.

"Why, because you jerked me around with that ridiculous potion story?" She laughed bitterly. "But if I hadn't participated, that alone would have stopped it, yes?"

She remembered the glass of whiskey still in her hand, and took a sip, relishing the burn of it as it tore its way down her throat.

"No. I took advantage of you. I told you. I'm a liar. A monster. I never claimed I'd do anything but hurt you."

She laughed again, biting her tongue against the vitriol that was bubbling up her throat and threatening to spill out. It shocked her that there was still so much of it there, buried underneath layers of carefully constructed distractions. She could bring Fenris into this, bring the months they lived here with her when their experimental threesome turned into a flagrant disregarding of two years of what she had thought was a loving, committed relationship. But she swallowed it down, and it burned worse than the whiskey.

"Should I have told you the truth? There is no one I wouldn't kill to see mages free. How would you have reacted to that?"

"Anders, all killing does is prove the Templars right. If you want mages to be free we have to convince them that mages aren't dangerous," she said, trying to calm herself, trying to appeal to his sense of logic. "That too is a lie. We _are_ dangerous. But a peaceful solution is the only one that will change that perception."

"No. That's impossible."

"It's not impossible, Anders. It's just more difficult. But maybe there's still time to stop it, to stop whatever in the void it was that we did?" Avery stood and took a tentative step toward him. If there was any opening for her to convince him, she'd need to be ready to act on it, to drag him straight from the house and back to the Chantry, before he could change his mind again. But he gave no indication of his thoughts. He only stared numbly into space, his face scrunched into a scowl.

"Yes, time. Maybe there's still time…" he finally muttered.

Before she could move to take his hand and lead him back down the stairs, she felt the Veil stretch around her. The hairs on her skin prickled as the russet brown stare was replaced with an angry luminescent blue.

"Leave! This does not concern you!" Justice barked, his gravelly voice hitting multiple octaves at the same time.

"This is Anders' decision, not yours," Avery growled at Justice. And to think there had been a time in her life when she'd actually liked talking to this thing.

"I am Anders. You have given into sloth! You would aid us this far only to turn your back? To stand by while mages are abducted and tortured?" Justice roared. "Go! Anders has no need of you."

She scoffed at the ridiculous demand. "This is my house!"

She was about to lay into the numerous accounts of blood mages doing their own abducting and torturing when the blue faded swiftly away. The air in the room remained unsettled, a metallic scent radiating from the Fade touched body before her.

"What was I saying?" Anders asked as he shook his head gently.

Avery sighed.

"Maybe there's still time," she reminded him.

"Time. Time for what?"

She waited. It would come back to him eventually, but she'd still probably have to make her case to him again anyway.

Approaching the open door quietly behind Anders was a nervous looking Bodahn. She could only imagine that he'd heard the eerie voice that emanated unnaturally from Anders when Justice was in charge. Somehow they'd always managed to keep the spirit hidden from the dwarves when he'd lived there, but the anxiety in Bodahn's face was unmistakable.

"Um, pardon messere," he squeaked.

"A letter just came for you. They said it was urgent,"

Avery stepped forward to take the letter, pulling it open impatiently as Anders hovered just feet away. His eyes were sharp again, and she could see the gears behind them working. She could only hope that he was figuring out a way to stop his plan.

 _Champion,_

 _You have proven yourself a friend to Kirkwall's mages and it seems I must call upon you once again. Meredith has gone too far, and I will not let her madness remain unchecked. I ask that you come to the Gallows at once. Perhaps together we can stop this before there is bloodshed._

 _First Enchanter Orsino_

"So were you at least going to take any of us with you this time?" Anders asked quietly as they walked through the Docks, but not quietly enough for Fenris and Varric not to hear. Varric's head cocked slightly but he didn't look toward them, his annoying little writer's tell that indicated he was tuning in to their conversation, most likely in the hopes of gaining story material.

Avery cast her eyes out to the rough sea waves, which looked strangely like they were glowing as they peaked and churned against the storm-blackened sky. The rain had stopped at least, but the wind pierced straight through her robes with spiny frozen fingers. She took a deep lungful of humid, salty air and almost laughed. She truly could think of nothing to say about why she'd been preparing her pack. And then, a spark of a memory flared up, and suddenly she did.

"Yes," she said finally. "Fenris proposed a little break from Kirkwall. I was going to take him up on it."

"That is news to me," Fenris remarked neutrally from behind her.

"Well, I'd just decided it and I didn't want to walk to your house in the rain. I was just getting a head start on my pack." She relaxed a little, feeling satisfied enough with her explanation, though Anders was really the only one of the three men who she'd ever actively tried to hide Cullen from. The others hadn't even been around to see anything, and if they had been she wasn't sure she'd have gone to great lengths to hide it. Varric and Fenris could be trusted. Anders however… could be such a wild card. One day he'd been asking Avery to seduce and betray Cullen, and another day he'd wanted to thank him. Of course he'd been grateful for Avery's safe return from the Vimmarks, but it probably would have been just as easy for Anders' opinion to sway back over to betrayal. And she had no doubt that Justice would have disapproved.

As they rounded the corner toward the slip where they'd catch the boat to the Gallows, a frantic mage waved the group down. The hooded man rushed over, pointing up to Lowtown.

"Champion! Thank you the Maker! The First Enchanter and the Knight Commander got into a terrible argument, and Orsino stormed off to bring the matter before the Grand Cleric. They're not at the Gallows anymore, they are headed to the Chantry. If you hurry you can catch up to them! Quickly. I fear there will be blood!"

Avery nodded and urged the group to turn around, heading back up to Lowtown and hastening their steps until the rumbles of impassioned voices echoed down the passageways and led them to the fray. Avery's pulse hammered in her ears with every step that carried them toward the group of bodies at the far side of a wide Lowtown corridor. Part of her hoped that everything might finally be coming to a head, that the torturous waiting for the inevitable clash was about to be brought to an end. And a part of her deeply feared that very same possibility.

Facing off in at the head of two separate groups stood Orsino and Meredith. Avery eyed the group of Templars for Cullen, but every one present on Meredith's side was wearing their helmets. She'd seen no one at all within the compound as they passed, but was sure that in such an uproar Cullen would not have been too far from his Knight-Commander. He likely would have had no choice in the matter.

She came to a halt before them just as Orsino was throwing his hands up into the air, his voice shrill with incredulous outrage. "Blood magic! Where do you not see blood magic! My people cannot sneeze without you accusing them of corruption!"

"Do not trifle with me mage! My patience is at an end." Meredith growled.

Avery sighed, resigned to the chore before her. There'd been no blood spilled as of yet, but as visibly worked up as the two already were, it was probably going to take a while to calm them both down.

"This needs to stop," Avery ordered sharply.

"This does not involve you, Champion!" scowled Meredith.

Orsino took several steps forward and stood next to Avery, turning back to glare at the Knight-Commander. "I called her here. The people deserve to know what you've done."

"You mean protect this city, like always!? Protect you, from your curse and stupidity!?" Meredith's eyes grew wild and she banged her fist into her hand. "I will not stop! I will not lower our guard! I dare not!"

Avery looked to Orsino. "Well, _are_ there blood mages in the Circle?" she asked. "They do seem to be everywhere else."

"According to her, every mage that lives is a blood mage!" Orsino exclaimed. "I am surprised she hasn't accused you yet Champion. Half the raids she's undertaken have turned up empty, here and everywhere else. How much further will she go?"

Avery sighed. "You both set quite an example for your people, you know that?"

"Have you not seen with your own eyes what they can do?" Meredith began, her glacial eyes gleaming toward Avery, "Heard the lies of mages that seek power? Your own mother died at the hands of a blood mage. Tell me Champion, what other option do we have? Shall we look the other way? Tell the poor victims of a possessed mage that we meant no harm? Would that have comforted you after what happened to your mother?

Bile rose in the back of Avery's throat. She had expected that Meredith would pounce on an opportunity to bring her mother into this, as manipulative as that was Not that she hadn't had a point. And there remained the letter found at the murderers shrine. The one speaking of books retrieved that instructed on numerous dark magical arts. And it had been signed "O". Meredith and Orsino were both guilty of many abuses, that much was plain, despite the vitriolic bickering. Avery gritted her teeth and forced herself not to throw up her hands and leave the whole lot of them there to rot by themselves, which was exactly what she wanted to do.

"Perhaps. But they are not the only ones that lie and seek power!" Avery spat.

"You would cast us all as villains, but it is not so!" wailed Orsino as Meredith considered him smugly. "This is getting us nowhere. Grand Cleric Elthina will put a stop to this!"

The next five minutes passed in a blur. Orsino was caught by a snarling Meredith as he turned, while Anders emerged from the rear, his voice rising above the din of arguing, warbling slightly with barely controlled emotion. Meredith stomped forward to face him down, but Anders remained unbowed. Avery felt the change in energy of her friend, as heavy as a cloud of smoke wafting through the air. It was an aura of wrath, a righteous fury that smoldered and consumed him.

"I will not stand by and watch you treat all mages like criminals," Anders growled. A high pitched whine rose in Avery's ears, eclipsing the impassioned words that flew through the air between the three enraged figures. Orsino chimed up and Anders turned on him next, hissing the same indignant arguments she'd heard countless times, entreaties and rationale that might have come directly from his manifesto. Avery's mouth was dry as she watched chaos slowly unfold, and soon enough the inevitable spirit was making his entrance as well. Anders' veins broke open with blinding streaks of blue, his eyes bursting into glowing, unnatural orbs.

"The circle has failed us Orsino," Justice roared as he yanked his staff from his back, "Even you should be able to see that! The time has come to act. There can be no half-measures."

Orsino watched with horror and for the first time Avery wondered if it was possible that Orsino had no idea what Anders carried inside him. Rumors should have reached him at least, she figured, given Anders notoriety within the Circle. But to great surprise, the glowing spirit didn't stick around, apparently content to let Anders stay in control for a change. As quickly as he'd come, he faded away again, leaving behind an ordinary but familiar face possessed not with a spirit, but with a set jaw and a grave purpose.

Tendrils of fear crept up her spine while her head suddenly grew unbearably light. She had only barely heard the words that he spoken, her mind seemingly attempting to reject the reality of what it all meant. No, it wasn't what they meant, she realized, it was what they were leading to.

"Anders, what have you done?" Avery croaked. Her heart thudded wildly against her ribcage and her ears continued to ring with panic. _What have we done?_

His staff swung decisively, a single graceful swirl that carved an arc through the air, and when the butt landed hard upon the ground she felt a buzzing in the soles of her feet. It grew to a rumble, the earth itself trembling its warning of further chaos to come. Anders turned to looked expectantly at the Chantry tower that sat in the distance, perched stoically upon the Highest level of the city.

"Anders?" she asked again as she fell in line beside him. She took in his focused, maddened face and felt her own terror grow along with the quaking below their feet, rattling the bones of the city and reaching a dizzying fever pitch. Whatever it was that was coming, it was already on its way.

When it finally happened, she had the strange experience of watching it from two places simultaneously. She was somewhere outside her body, floating far away as everything played out in little miniature figures, like toys carved from wood that one might gift to a child. While at the same time she felt the earth around her trembling its anger as intimately as a violent lover. A pillar of blinding red light burst from behind the distant stone building, streaking up to meet the black clouds above it with a eerily muffled roar. Avery blinked dumbly at the vision, her teeth chattering with the force of the tremors enfolding them. The unearthly roar grew to an unbearable intensity as the stone building began to tear itself apart in a sickening slow motion scene, chunk separating from chunk, the surreal glow infecting the building from the bottom up like a deadly virus until all that was left were pebbles and dust. The city quaked and pounded around them, reverberating through her bones and blurring her vision with its force, condensing the air into an unbreathable thickness. The debris of the building swirled like a whirlpool of stone trying to drain itself into the red pillar. Avery found herself trapped within an eternally long second, afraid to blink or breathe.

The last thing she felt before she dropped to the ground with her hands over her ears was a percussive burst that felt like death himself had scythed her in the chest.


	21. Chapter 21

This was not the way Avery expected to be ending the day. She adjusted and readjusted her clammy hand around the hilt of the dagger at Anders' back, losing track of how long she'd been standing there trying to do it. Everyone was expecting her to do it, to end the life of the man who'd just blown up the Chantry. And she almost had. For a moment the tip of the blade pierced the thick leather of his robe and a tiny bulb of crimson appeared. But then she hesitated, unable to complete the motion. The hesitation became a frozen half-paralysis that stretched on and on until her companions started groaning and kicking at rocks and sticks. But how could she do it? How could she possibly?

She'd killed so many people over the years. She'd never liked that fact but it was a necessary part of her job, and here she was waffling at taking the life of just one person, and this particular person, Anders, _deserved_ it. He'd manipulated her into being part of an act of terrorism, killing every single person who had the misfortune of being within the Chantry at the wrong moment. But the worst of it, the part that make Avery sick to her stomach, was the debris that rained down onto the city, bringing walls down on top of families sitting in their own homes. It rivaled the depravity of Meredith herself, and Anders had put some of that blood on her own hands. But yet, still, to her own disgust and dismay, Avery hesitated.

The Anders she'd originally met had been kind and generous, delivering babies and setting bones for anyone who'd needed it without asking for anything in return. They'd gotten to know each other over his clinic tables, with him encouraging her budding skills with healing, showing her tricks and letting her practice carefully under his masterful guidance. He'd been charming and witty, and had an irresistible, laughing glint in his eye that birthed legions of butterflies in her stomach even before he'd started openly flirting with her.

And when she'd finally had his love, it seemed so pure, so devoted and true. He'd had lovers before, had quite a wild past in fact, but was so patient with her inexperience, so tender and accepting of all her growing pains and flaws. He'd encouraged the adventurous side of her, the side which drunkenly suggested inviting Fenris home with them one fateful night two years after they'd come together. He'd taken her arguments to heart whenever she opposed one of his more extreme ideas, valuing her input and making her feel heard and appreciated. He'd held her for two straight days after they found her mother, on top of taking care of all the more practical arrangements that she couldn't bring herself to face.

For a time, for a brief joyous stretch of her life, she felt complete. Accepted and loved, living with purpose and surrounded by friends. And so much of that had been because of Anders. He'd embodied all that she had ever wanted in a love.

And then, inevitably of course, he'd broken her heart.

When Avery's mind finished running through their history, both the romantic and the more sordid details, what she came back to was the fact that he was also a healer without match in all of Kirkwall. If he died now, so died his ability to help others. Not only were there numerous people suffering in the city that very moment, but there was a war happening. Avery had officially chosen the side of the mages, and Meredith had given the order to kill every mage on sight, regardless of their involvement. Anders might have been the catalyst for the chaos, but he was also the reason she and all her friends remained alive after all the fighting they'd done over the past six years. She wasn't sure they'd make it through the battles to come without him.

The thought of facing the citizens of the city afterward at the side of the man who had both crippled them and offered their restoration, was conflicting at best. But in that way at least he could atone. He could try to make up for the damage he had caused, that they had caused together.

With a shaky hand she sheathed her dagger, finally letting out the breath of smoky, acrid air that she felt like she'd been holding in for an hour.

Instead she pushed him, jamming a fist into his back to urge him to stand. He flinched with the expectation of a blade, and then his head turned as it dawned upon him that the pain he was awaiting had not come.

"If I kill you now, I probably kill the whole lot of us," she said finally. Anders stood, and turned to face her, his brown eyes confused and searching. "You will fight, and keep us all standing, so that we can make it out of the coming battle alive. And after that you will help any injured innocents that need it. You are a healer, and you will heal this blighted mess to the furthest extent of your ability, do you understand?"

"You mean… stay with you?" he asked. "I didn't think you'd let me. But if you do, I will fight the Templars. Damned right I will."

"Yes you will fight, but more importantly, you will enable _us_ to fight. That's your main job now. Don't fuck it up."

Avery could only scowl at him. In the back of her mind was the leaden guilt of her own hand in the murders he'd committed. Anders might have lied, might have jerked her around with a story he knew she'd find sympathetic, but she'd also ignored so many red flags. His secrecy, his erratic behavior, the fact that he was openly hiding his plan from her… she should have known better. Or at least played it safe. Perhaps she was making the same mistake again in letting him live. But she felt her own chances of living were improved with him around, at least until the bulk of the fighting was done. If, after it was all over and he'd salvaged what he could, and everyone was still calling for his head… then perhaps she'd let them have it.

There was one especially elucidating factor to their current predicament: staring a wholesale apocalypse in the face brought one's priorities into crystal clear focus. There was one thing she was living for now, and that thing would be fighting on the opposite side of the war than she was herself. But somehow, she'd find a way to ensure that both she and Cullen made it out alive, so that they both could leave the city together as they'd planned. It was one of the few things that still mattered.

Aveline and Merrill had arrived, and the entirety of her party stood at the ready. They were to make their way to the Gallows, where Meredith was preparing to carry out the Right of Annulment.

Within the first hour of slogging through Lowtown, Avery knew she'd made the right decision in bringing Anders along. He stayed to the rear as he usually did, but followed Avery's instructions to the letter, focusing most of his mana on replenishing barriers and keeping the whole party's strength up, while she and everyone else fought held the frontlines, taking down Templars and blood mages, Shades and Rage Demons. She'd tossed Anders the few vials of lyrium she kept in a pouch at her belt, and let the blades on her staff take over when her own mana was low.

The streets were burning. Crumbled remains of buildings blocked passageways and courtyards were littered with fresh corpses. With every Templar that charged them, Avery looked for Cullen. Surely he wouldn't attack once he saw her, despite his orders, but she couldn't say for certain that her group wouldn't attack him. There was little time to think, but in the hurried steps taken between pockets of homicidal maniacs she tried decide upon the best course of action once he was finally spotted.

 _If_ he was spotted. As soon as the possibility whispered itself into her ear, she froze in place, stricken dumb with fear. What if Cullen had been in the Chantry? What if he had even just been close to the Chantry? An explosion of that magnitude would have taken down everything within a couple block radius at the very least. She knew he visited sometimes. He often smelled like the incense there for Maker's sake. For a moment, the world spun around her and she had to take a step forward just to be certain she was still standing on her feet, and was not in fact in the process of falling to the ground. She swallowed hard, blinking back the panic that swelled in her throat, that knocked on the bars of her chest like a wild animal trying to escape its cage.

"Hawke?" Varric asked worriedly.

A chunk of stone fell heavily from a wall beside them, crashing to the street with a deafening crack. It was enough to startle her back into the moment, and she felt the eyes of her friends upon her, waiting for her to give the next command. She tried to shake the panic out of her mind, but felt it continuing to vibrate just under the surface. She didn't have time to get overcome with emotion, and there was an equal chance that he was fine. She'd have to operate under that assumption until she had reason to think otherwise. She took a deep breath, and continued forward.

When they'd finally reached the pier for the boat to the Gallows, the black clouds were threatening more rain. Lightning flickered in the distance and the wind whipped the waves of the harbor into frothy peaks. The boat was sitting empty, ready to take them on to the Gallows, without a single other passenger nearby. While Kirkwall burned, its residents hid and scrambled to salvage loved ones and valuables, with none of them apparently making any attempt to flee. But then the Gallows was the last place any sane person should be trying reach. As ground zero for both mages and Templars, they'd be lucky if the place wasn't one big graveyard by the time they arrived.

The ride across the channel was both unbearably long and over much more quickly than she was prepared for. They rode in complete silence, each member of her party retreating to someplace deep within themselves as they waited for the Gallows to emerge from the mists like a ghost. Avery stood at the bow of the boat and dug the blade of her dagger into the tip of a finger, dragging the stream of blood that spilled forth across the bridge of her nose. It was a mark that meant so many things to her. It represented the strength in her blood, the ties that bound her to her family and her ruthless determination to protect those she loved, by any means necessary. It was the switch she flipped before she blocked out her humanity and became a killing machine. She hoped six years of fighting criminals and miscreants had been enough to prepare her for the battle to come, but if it hadn't been, then at least she likely wouldn't live to see the consequences of her failure.

Even before the boat touched the dock Avery was on the move, racing swiftly ahead as she twirled her staff in preparation. Pounding the ground behind her were the steps of her companions, trusting her as they always did to lead them into danger and then back out again, but this was one battle whose outcome she could not predict. The mages were susceptible to corruption, and demons did not take sides. Once a mage had become an abomination, they would fight anyone unlucky enough to be close, turning against friend and foe alike. But it was the innocents there, the mages that remained strong and untainted that she held in her mind. She thought of Jorah and Sadie, Bethany and her father, and numerous other mages she'd known over the years. She'd fight for them, for a world where they wouldn't be stuck between a rock and a hard place, with only the help of monsters to break them free. She'd fight for Cullen, and Thrask and Emeric, and all the Templars who did not lose their souls to brutality and fear and suspicion.

But also, she just wanted to survive long enough to get the Void out of Kirkwall. She wanted a family, to nurture _life_ and love for a change, and not have to spend all her days constantly facing down death.

They stepped around and over the corpses of fallen Templars, entering the courtyard of the Gallows to see Orsino and a group of mages taking down the last of several metal clad bodies. The Gallows too was burning, and blinding flashes of light carved spots into her vision as mages threw every spell they could muster at attacking Templars.

"First Enchanter!" Avery called across the chaos.

Orsino waved Avery in, urging her to follow as he and several others retreated up the stairs. "Champion! You've survived, thank the Maker! We must —"

"And here you are." Meredith cut in, calling loudly as she approached behind Avery. She turned and felt relief wash over her as her eyes fell upon Cullen, walking just behind Meredith, his face as pale and ashen as a gravestone. But at least he was alive and whole. Orsino and Meredith barked commands and threats to each other as each approached the other for yet another face off, but Avery heard little of it, her attention consumed by the calming effect of Cullen's presence. His eyes founds hers and whispered a wordless apology.

"Speak if you have something to say," Meredith commanded Orsino.

"Revoke the Right of Annulment, Meredith. Before this goes too far. Imprison us if you must. Search the tower. I will even help you," he pleaded. "But do not kill us all for an act we didn't commit."

Avery glanced over at Anders, who was standing stock still, his jaw set and mouth drawn into a thin, quivering line. She could see that he was biting his tongue. Clearly he wanted the mages to fight, not offer a compromise. She glared at him pointedly until his attention was drawn to her and she sent him a silent warning, a look that instructed in no uncertain terms that he was to stay silent. Cullen was watching them too, his face drawing into a mask of disgust as he looked at Anders, and then back at Avery. The disgust did not fade entirely away when his eyes met hers again. There was deep disapproval there, she saw. He too clearly believed she should have killed him. She could only hope that later he might understand her reasoning.

"Your offer is commendable Orsino, but it comes too late," Meredith said, and if Avery didn't know better, she'd almost think the expression on Meredith's face was remorseful.

"So then what is it to be Meredith, do we fight here?" he asked.

"No. Go prepare your people Orsino. The rest of the Order are crossing the harbor now."

Before turning away and following Orsino deeper into the Gallows, she flashed Cullen a parting glance, one that she prayed to the Maker wasn't her very last.

* * *

When the Templars finally broke down the Gallows gate and charged, the mages fell quickly. Wave after wave of metal bodies surged forward, doubling and then tripling the size of the crowd. Their swords sliced through robes and flesh like knives through butter, and they moved with lethal precision, distracting separated mages so that they could be flanked and impaled before they had any clue what was even happening. But the mages fought hard despite their overwhelming opposition. Blazing fireballs cooked Templars within their armor while bolts of lightning jumped from from metallic body to metallic body. A few mages erected ice walls, bottlenecking the flood of Templars and temporarily slowing their progression deeper into the Gallows. Shockwaves of silencing quieted the roar of magic and the battle cries of bloodthirsty Templars became the loudest sound in the courtyard. The mages began retreating en masse, running deeper and deeper into the corridors of the Gallows building, running up stairs and splitting off into long hallways, finding themselves cornered against locked doors.

Bits of the speech Orsino gave to his collection of mages came to Avery periodically as battles bled from one section of the Gallows to another. He'd told them that their job was to survive, to escape and spread the word of what had happened to the Kirkwall Circle. The implications of his instructions took a while to sink in, and as she connected herself to the Fade and wove devastating spells of destruction, a little part of her mind remained quiet and contemplative. This conflict would not stay in Kirkwall now, she realized. The mages who made it out would carry their outrage and tales of oppression far and wide, and the rebellion would spread. This was the start of something much bigger than just a clash of factions in one dirty Free Marcher city. This truly was the beginning of a revolution, just as Anders had intended. Even if Meredith were to fall, even if she and Cullen were to run, eventually this conflict would still catch up with them.

The fighting within the Gallows spawned horrors and demons as everyone expected, but what was not expected was the monstrosity that Orsino became. He had to have known that when he took his blade to his arm and gave in not just to blood magic, but to a spell darker than anyone had ever seen, that he would turn on his fellow mages, that he would deal a massive blow to his own side. And yet that did not stop him. Avery cursed his name as she sent barrage of spell after spell toward the beast of death, adding to Anders' protective barriers around Aveline and Fenris with her own magic, aiding those allies who did all their fighting up close.

It took what felt like hours. Hours of staring into the face of a nightmare, draining herself down to the last drops of mana before rushing in and slicing with her staff blades. Hours before finally they all collapsed to take a few precious breaths, pausing for a beat before rushing on to join the rest of the fight.

The next corridor that they emptied into was so filled with shades and Rage demons that it seemed every mage left standing had given themselves over. Fenris had been holding his tongue for most of the battle, but now Avery began to hear grumbles from him, decrying the weakness that let so many fighters turn and add their numbers to the other side.

Once through the waves of demons, came only more Templars. Avery kept an eye searching for one acting different than the others, one who wasn't attacking. But with their helmets down they all looked exactly the same. She had no choice but to barrel on, to take them down one by one until one of them gave her reason to pause.

By now her team was working at peak efficiency, their muscles loose and minds completely tuned into each other, anticipating each other's needs and shielding each other's weaknesses. It came as easily as breathing, moving with familiarity born of years and years of life-or-death battles. Anders was putting every bit of himself into protecting them, and as soon as she bore a wound she felt her flesh begin to knit back together, aches and gashes disappearing in halos of warmth. On at least two occasions she took a blow from a Templar sword that should have been fatal, but hadn't been only due to Anders' attentive casting.

The Templars continued to come in a blur, followed by demons and the occasional pocket of mages not yet turned into abominations. _Survive_ , she urged them silently, not having even a second to stop to deliver encouraging words, or to take a breath. The Templars themselves seemed to be drained, and Avery and her companions brutally dispatched two groups who'd stopped to chug vials of lyrium, their silencing abilities drained entirely. The further they advanced into the depths of the Gallows, the more Avery began to anticipate the inevitable showdown with Meredith.

"Save what strength you can," she called to her companions over the clangs of blades and crashes of magic. "The worst is yet to come."

They'd entered a large courtyard that opened up to the bare sky, the churning storm clouds hanging low and bulbous, heavy with impending rain. She didn't know how they'd made it into such a corner, but she'd never been that far into the Gallows in all her time in Kirkwall. It seemed to be a sparring room, with wooden dummies scattered along the walls. And it was packed full of fighting bodies. A procession of mages and Templars had found themselves back there, unable to find an exit without turning to their rear. Avery continued her fighting, sending Templar after Templar crashing to the ground, but there were so many, and the quarters were so close that she began to feel dizzy. Several of them seemed to have spotted and targeted her in particular and she spun, deflecting the blows from several men that came simultaneously. She blurred her eyes and focused on her peripheral vision, trying to see the many coming blades at once. Fenris, Aveline and Varric had been swallowed up in the swarm of fighting figures, while Anders cowered in a corner, with Merrill keeping herself positioned solidly between him and those who were attacking.

The onslaught was unending, the angry Templars seemingly unlimited in number, and finally her energy began to flag. She banged the blade of her staff against one Templar who approached from the rear, trying to push him back while at the same time she fired a spirit bolt at another advancing from the front, but from the side stood yet another, his sword raised and ready to crash upon her. She cowered instinctively, wondering if this was it, if this was finally the moment she would leave this world.

But another blade blocked his blow, sword meeting sword in a deafening clash, and the man who held the protective blade delivered a swift kick to the man from the rear who'd recovered from her own shove and was advancing again. Before she fully understood what had happened, a hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her out of that section of the fray, leading her back toward a wall.

"It's me," he said, his voice tinny from beneath his helmet. She sighed a great sigh of relief, filling her burning lungs with air she hadn't realized she'd been missing. "We need to get out of this room. It's a death trap."

"We can't, the exit is completely blocked," she cried.

He put himself between her and the rest of the fighting, diving immediately into crowd of people before her. She kept her eyes trained on his body, trying not to lose track of him. She needed to mark him somehow, she realized, so she could be sure not to accidentally attack him, and keep her companions from attacking him as well. Beside her feet lay an eviscerated mage, dead eyes opened to the black sky above them. Not knowing what else to do, Avery thrust her hand upon the gory wound at the corpse's breast, pulling back fingers soaked thickly with blood. Before she lost track of him again, she surged forward and wiped a deliberate swipe of red along his back, painting a vivid mark over his armor. He turned for a second, pausing to observe the strange contact. And her own attention was caught as out the corner of her eye a mage was powering up her sparking hands, about to send a blast of a spell in Cullen's direction. She slammed her staff to the ground, bringing up a solid protective orb around him, and the flickering bolts of electricity hit the barrier and dissipated away. The mage looked at her in confusion, eyes dark and suspicious, before a shiny sword swiftly removed the mage's head.

She blinked and looked around the room again, sizing up her next attackers, but Cullen had already sighted them himself, two more Templars rushing over fallen comrades and scrambling in her direction. Cullen was before them in a blink, strategically choosing a mage target in order to keep himself between the rushing Templars and Avery, making himself yet another obstacle to their approach in a way that wouldn't overtly call attention to his intention. She kept the barrier around him strong, and aimed the bolts from her staff at other mages that tried to approach him from the side. The chaos in the room was quickly thinning, the ground covered in a soft carpet of bloody bodies, and she was able to see her party again.

Fenris was glowing blue and incorporeal, moving with an unnatural speed as he appeared almost instantaneously from target to target. Varric had chosen a corner on the far side of the room and he was keeping Bianca busy, occasionally dashing into the fray to retrieve spent arrows. Aveline was a brick wall, unmovable and indomitable, knowing exactly where the weak spots in the Templar's armor was and piercing straight through with her blade. Merrill had resorted to blood magic, but she seemed to have it well under control, and her defense of Anders so far had been without considerable challenge. Anders, for his part, kept his head down and their barriers high, absorbing damage and responding immediately to injury.

Soon there were fewer Templars than there were mages, with Cullen being one of the last standing. Avery stepped out of his shadow and faced down the mages who looked menacingly to him as they awaited restored mana for their next attack. She pointed her own bolts at the three remaining Templars in the middle of the room, surrounded now by at least a dozen opponents. Bloodied and weary they might have been, but they were still standing. Seeing an opening, and their inevitable demise before them, the three Templars turned and fled the room, stumbling over piles of corpses as they clambered for the now-unblocked door. The mages followed, emptying the room of all but Avery, her companions, and Cullen.

The roaring stillness around them lasted only several heartbeats, before Merrill and Anders were advancing on her, and she realized it was the Templar behind her that they sought.

"No!" she cried, thrusting a hand forward and calling up another barrier wall between them. "This is the Knight-Captain. Leave him be."

The eyes in the room were wide with confusion, but no one moved. Eventually, they all collectively relaxed.

Merrill turned around and began tittering all over Anders, while Anders inspected an injury that Aveline sustained. The silence was quickly replaced by groans and quiet questions to each other, as they all took a moment to get their bearings in the rare moment of rest. Satisfied that they would obey her order, Avery felt her body unwind, grateful for this pause in the chaos, grateful that Cullen remained safe and alive.

She turned to see him removing his helmet, his skin glistening with sweat, chest heaving and wide pupils staining his eyes a bottomless black. A stream of blood poured from his ear, and he pulled off a glove to inspect a deep gash at the inner crease of his elbow. Avery's staff clattered to the ground as she rushed toward him, picking up his arm gently and immediately running a glow of healing over his wound. It was deep, and whatever had caused it had nicked a tendon and drained him of a large volume of blood. The way he'd fought, she'd never have guessed he bore such a wound. When his flesh there was whole again, she looked up into his face, bringing up her hands to his ear, but before she could move to assess the head injury, her mouth was caught up in his, his lips smashing into hers as one of his arms wrapped around the small of her waist to pull her close. His ungloved hand reached up to cup her cheek, running the pads of his fingers along her jaw and cheekbone.

His embrace, like his kiss was desperate, panicked and he breathed jagged breaths out his nose as he restrained his own urgency. She melted gratefully into him. The room full of bodies, the distant clamor of fighting, the watchful eyes of her friends all fell away into blackness as she clutched him back with a blinding fervor. She let her hand slide around the blazing skin of his neck, the pulse of his jugular punching against her palm. The release of the pent up fear rushed through her, rendering her dizzy and shaky. None of the horrific endings she'd imagined him enduring while she battled had actually occurred. He was not maimed, he was not blood magicked, he was not crippled and bleeding out alone in a corner somewhere. He was here and in her arms, the metallic sting of lyrium on his lips, the familiar bulk of his body under her hands. And she was exultant. Her love was alive, and for the moment at least, was safe. She tilted her head and let his kiss delve as deep as they dared, the slight awareness of a room full of people slowly eeking its way back into her mind.

It took a moment for her to notice that the room had grown completely silent.

"Well, shit," said Varric.

She did not know how long the kiss lasted, only that when they tore themselves apart again, Cullen rushed to reapply his armor and then with a whispered explanation that Meredith was just down the last hall and would surely be looking for him, he slipped out the door. Avery's heart was in her throat when she turned to face the rest of the room, the startled eyes of her friends all watching her curiously.

"I don't want to talk about it," she told them gruffly and picked up her staff.

Meredith was just down the hall, he'd said. Avery approached her companions, assessing their condition and seeing them all tired, bruised and drooping. Anders watched her out the corner of narrowed eyes, clearly unhappy about the scene he'd just witnessed, but there was nothing Avery could do about that. Nor did she particularly care.

"Rest while you can, as the next group we encounter will likely contain Meredith and it appears we'll be fighting her ourselves," she told them.

"No, there are still mages standing yet," Merrill said. "There was a group of them before, they've got to still be around."

"Perhaps. I've a mind to send some of them back to Kirkwall. People there are still suffering, and with all of us here they are not getting any aid. Some mages need to make it out of here if they are going to help. If we all go in to face Meredith with the remainder of the mages, they may not survive."

"If you send away some mages, _we_ may not survive," Varric added.

"I think our chances are good. Cullen will not attack me. And I may be able to reason with Meredith," Avery said.

"Meredith is past the point of reason," said Anders.

"Well, then I will take her on myself. If I can handle the Arishok I should be able to handle the Knight-Commander," she told them. "Stay here and rest, while I locate the other mages."

Fenris strode forward, joining her as she turned to the door. "I will not let you wander these halls alone, Hawke. Not when there is still the risk of attack."

Avery nodded and led him out.

Merrill was correct that a group of mages still lived, and she ran into them only steps away from the doorway. She waved them inside with the rest of her companions, and turned to address the group. There were many more of them than she realized, and that fact was encouraging. Their eyes all looked to her, and she felt a rush of purpose as she carefully considered her words. Finally, she took a deep breath, and spoke.

"As we all fight here, people are dying in Kirkwall. The streets are burning. People's homes are falling down around them. Some of you must leave here and head into the city to help. If you want the people to see that mages have a place in this world, that your Maker given abilities can be a gift as much as a curse, then you must go help them now. If you have force magic, clear the streets and rescue trapped residents. If you have ice, put out the fires. If you have healing, tend to the wounded. If some of you would volunteer to face Meredith with me now, I would welcome the aid. But the citizens of Kirkwall need you too. Once that has been looked after, then you can do as you will. Leave if you must, spread the word of what has happened here and maybe all this death won't have happened for naught. Go find a boat, and return to help the people. Some of them won't want your aid. They might try to fight you, and resist your attempts to assist, but you must render it anyway. Show them that we do not _all_ deserve their fear and disdain."

She was relieved to see faces harden with determination, and heads nodding in agreement.

"Decide amongst yourselves who will stay and who will go, and when everyone is ready the rest of us will see if Meredith can be brought down. It's time to end this."

She walked away from them as they all turned inward and began debating. Aveline nodded in approval while Anders sidled up beside her.

"What of me? Should I go with them, or stay with you?"

She thought for a moment, feeling the green spotlight of Fenris' eyes awaiting her decision. She knew that if she sent Anders out to the city, that he would do as she'd commanded. He'd heal as many as he could, which would be many more than any other mage there. But she also knew that once there was no one left to save, he would flee. If she sent him with the mages now, it would likely be the last she saw of him.

But there might be people there who needed healing of his magnitude. She certainly couldn't offer it herself, and neither could any other mage within the Circle. And when he did disappear, then at least she wouldn't be tasked with sticking a dagger through his heart. As much as he might have deserved it, the thought of killing her friend was too much for her to bear.

"Go with them," she said. He nodded, and brought a hand up to squeeze her arm. He lingered for a moment, watching her with a turmoil of unspoken words behind his eyes, and then he slipped into the crowd of robed mages.

The hall led to the rear Courtyard, and she entered at a sprint, followed by her friends and a dozen battle ready mages. She instructed the mages to hang back at the edge of the courtyard and wait until the fighting began, then she turned and advanced boldly toward the congregation of Templars on the furthest side of the square. Meredith was standing there calmly, arms crossed, waiting. Beside her, his face as smooth as stone, stood Cullen.

"And here we are Champion, at long last," Meredith said ominously.

"I imagine you've wanted to be rid of me for some time," Avery answered.

"I bear you no ill will. You've done this to yourself."

Something in Meredith's demeanor was different, enough to raise the little hairs on the back of Avery's neck. Her eyes seemed distant somehow, icy pools of blue that were flat and empty. Cullen's face as he watched Meredith changed slightly, just enough to show Avery that he too was uneasy. Of course he had every reason to be, but he'd been so adept at keeping all hint of emotion off his face when they were all together thus far, that this little slip from him only served to heighten the sense of foreboding. Avery steeled her back, mentally preparing herself for what was probably going to be a complete diplomatic failure, likely ending in yet more bloodshed. She'd hoped the others had recovered some of their energies, as they'd need it.

"In fighting on behalf of other mages," Meredith continued, "you have elected to share their fate."

Cullens brows furrowed and he stepped forward.

"Knight-Commander, I thought we intended to _arrest_ the Champion?" he asked.

Her face twisted into a sneer, "You will do as I command Cullen."

He paused a moment, looking to Avery in warning. She adjusted her stance, bracing herself on shaky legs for the possibility of attack.

"No!" he barked. "I defended you when Thrask started whispering you were mad. But this is too far."

Meredith reacted instantly, the intensity of her ire escalating into a mad fury in the blink of an eye.

"I will not allow insubordination!" Meredith screamed and drew her sword, pointing it at Cullen. The sword thrummed sickeningly, glowing with veins of pulsating scarlet. Avery jumped to his side, but he threw an arm out to hold her back. Avery's body went light as it flooded with adrenaline, her hand twitched for the staff secured to her back and she heard the unrest of her friends behind her, their feet crunching against the ground as they readied themselves for another battle.

"We must stay true to our path!" Meredith's voice was a shriek. The other Templars startled noticeably, distancing themselves from the new target of the Knight-Commander's wrath. Cullen glared at Meredith but put his hands up and took a step away.

Varric grumbled something, catching Meredith's attention.

"You recognize it, do you not?" She turned to him, suddenly amused and calm.

"Pure lyrium, taken from the deep roads," Meredith explained. Her eyes were rapturous, entranced and dark. She ran her hand lovingly along the scarlet blade. The hum it emitted made Avery's stomach roil. "The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize."

"It seems a lot more sword-like than I remember," Avery remarked. She knew it wasn't the time for an attempt at humor, but couldn't seem to help herself.

"All of you!" Meredith screeched, her fury raging hard again as she addressed the throng of soldiers behind her." I want her dead!" Meredith pointed her sword toward Avery, marking her as the Templar's solitary target.

"Afraid to do it yourself, are you?" Avery asked with a raised eyebrow. She'd no doubt antagonizing Meredith was exactly the wrong thing to do, but Avery was beginning to feel decidedly like she'd had enough. She just wanted the fight to start, so that it could be finished.

Cullen stepped before Avery again, standing tall and proud against the frightening scowl of the Knight-Commander.

"No! This is not what the Order stands for! Knight-Commander _step down_. I relieve you of your command!"

Meredith's flat eyes grew wild and she almost smiled at Cullen. "My own Knight-Captain falls prey to the influence of blood magic! You all have! You're all weak, allowing the mages to control your minds! To turn you against me!" She whipped around, jabbing her sword into the faces of the gathered Templars. Avery saw nothing rational left in those cold eyes of hers, only delusion, fear and suspicion.

"But I don't need any of you! I will protect this city myself!"

Cullen raised his sword and stepped forward again. His jaw was set, his eyes made of blackened steel. "You'll have to go through me."

"Idiot boy. Just like all the others," she hissed menacingly.

"She's lost it, just like Bartrand," Varric whispered.

The fight that came drained every last ounce of energy from Avery. Her mana depleted quickly, and without Anders casting barriers and healing, she felt herself flagging fast. But it wasn't just Avery that began fighting Meredith, nor her friends and the mages, it was the Templars as well, and Cullen most of all. Meredith was imbued with a supernatural strength; a speed and command that could only have been aided by the sorcery of her sword. Avery whispered to the others to stay close, so she could cast a protective net around the lot of them with a single spell, instead of individually doling out barrier spells.

Varric kept right at her heels, dancing out of the way when she moved, maneuvering faster than she'd ever seen him move before. Fenris hovered around Meredith, dodging swings while trying to angle himself to use his own lyrium-enhanced abilities, but Meredith countered him at every turn. Aveline and Cullen coordinated attacks, bringing forth sheer power mixed with carefully timed jabs and blows. They'd alternate trying to bait her into moves that exposed her weak points, while the other stood ready to strike. But Meredith was clearly well practiced in typical warrior tactics and saw exactly what they were attempting. The mages, for their part, threw blazing bolts of lightning, and tried their best to freeze her into place, allowing the Templars to rain blows upon her as she struggled to free herself from frozen shackles.

Meredith was muttering chants as she fought, her gaze vacant as she obeyed the calling of the lyrium madness. But to Avery's surprise, several well placed bursts of lightning sent Meredith staggering back, and for a moment she collapsed to her knees. Meredith began to pray out loud, and when she looked up and readied herself to rush back in, her eyes held the same red glow as the sword.

The rest of the battle was a blood soaked blur, Meredith calling upon the Maker to strengthen her as she fought. As the fight wore on, the red glow spread from Meredith's eyes and oozed over her skin, transforming her into a smoldering monster, possessed by a madness she could not control. Avery reached the limits of her endurance and was forced to dig deep for energy reserves that tugged at her connection the Fade. The spirits there felt her flagging, and her ears were filled with the whispers of Pride, Rage and Desire… offering once again a solution to her predicament. But Avery blocked them out, finding the energy she needed in the memory of her fear for Cullen, of the bodies hanging from the nooses outside the Gallows entrance, of the threat of Cullen being one of those bodies. She watched him fight when the chance arose, taking a breath to regain some stamina, and somehow within the chaos she found herself enamored with him all over again. His movements were smooth and efficient, his energy streamlined and flowing effortlessly from one attack to another, so that no move was wasted. His eyes were fierce and dark and Avery had no doubt that as soon as the opportunity rose, Cullen would strike the killing blow upon his own Knight-Commander without hesitation.

Avery channeled the months of rage at her fear for Cullen into her magic, drawing a storm around them that circled and lashed, whipping her hair into her face and unleashing a torrent of energy beyond anything she'd ever been capable of before. Templars looked up wildly, wondering if it was the black clouds above them breaking open again, but quickly saw that Avery herself was the source, standing in control of forces usually reserved for nature itself.

But when it came down to it, no killing blow or bolt of lightning or spear of ice was needed. The scarlet glow infected every inch of Meredith, and then it spread to the air around her, wrapping her in a cocoon of malicious magic. When she fell to her knees and screamed, the sound drove every fighting Templar away and the whole battle came to a standstill. The echoes of her unnaturally loud cry faded slowly, withdrawing tendrils of an eerie singing force back into the ether, taking with it the cloud of red corruption. And all that was left, was a shriveled, petrified statue.

Avery and the rest of the group stood blinking in disbelief. She felt blood dripping down her temple, and a sting at her arm where a sword had made contact, but had no mana available for healing. Her companions limped and groaned, but amazingly, they all lived. As did every mage that had elected to join her.

Time passed without measure as bodies collapsed in rest and swords and staffs clattered to the ground. Cullen gathered the remaining soldiers around him and a low murmur of conversation erupted, with helmets removed and reverent eyes watching Cullen for direction. Avery saw that he was wholeheartedly accepted as their new leader already, and in the back of her mind came a realization that she was not prepared to face. After all that had occurred, all that had been lost and gained, the most precious thing of all was slipping away from her before her very eyes.

She knew what he was coming to say as he approached, his amber gaze sullen and stoic. She would hear him out, let him say the words that would destroy her more utterly than any blade, and wait until she was within the walls of her home before she would break. Whenever that was. First, she would have to join the mages currently trying to excavate the residents of the city from the rubble. At least that might occupy her mind for a while. Maybe she could delay her own self-destruction, put off her descent into the inevitable despair until tomorrow. There was still too much to do.

Cullen took his place by her side, and turned away to stare down at the frozen red figure.

"The men are still calling for your arrest," he said, keeping his voice soft enough that only she could hear. "But I told them that wasn't happening yet. The city still needs your aid."

Avery said nothing.

"I wish we could do this somewhere else, love. But… there is much work to be done. I am the Knight-Commander now, and… we must begin to repair what is lost. The Order is in shambles. It was in shambles already."

She nodded, swallowing down the anguish that was creeping up behind her eyes and threatening tears. How ridiculous would it look for the Champion of Kirkwall to start crying now, she thought. Battle armies of demons and Templars without a care, but the new Knight-Commander utters a few words and she's immediately reduced to a blubbering puddle. How fitting.

"They might not have needed me before… but they do now. This is all on me now. It has to be."

"Right. So no more lover's vacation in Ferelden then." She sighed, trying to maintain her composure. She knew that wasn't the least of it, but she wanted to hear him say it. She'd not been able to let him go when she'd tried to break it off herself. Letting him make the break would have to be the one that finally stuck.

He sighed sadly. She dared not look into his face.

"It's more than just that, Avery. I didn't want this. It kills me to do it, I hope you know that. But even if I'd have the time for you… and there's no way I will… and the men, if they knew I was sneaking around with a mage…"

His words lingered painfully, caught in his throat. He might as well have said it, she figured. Maybe she'd relieve him of this one. It was clearly hurting him too.

"I got it," she said. "I understand."

"I had to take that opportunity for a last kiss earlier. I hope it didn't get you into too much trouble with your friends."

"It's fine."

"I'm sorry. I love you." His voice shook as he spoke the last words. She could have been slowly turning to stone herself, just as Meredith just had.

"I'm sorry," he said again. And then he was gone.e.


	22. Chapter 22

This is a shorty short end chapter. I can't believe this is over! Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed! I appreciate you more than I can say! I hope my wonderful readers will continue along with me in Part 2, where Cullen and Hawke reunite four years down the road in Skyhold.

* * *

Avery was grateful for the rain on the boat ride back to Kirkwall. While Varric and the others huddled under a sail, trying to dodge the spray of the storm, Avery sat exposed on the bench, letting the fat, wet drops soak her to the skin. She wasn't sure what of it all came from the sea and what came from the sky, and she didn't really care. She let her own tears join the deluge, blending right in with the streaming water already pouring from her hair and running down her face. Her companions had looked at her with concern when they boarded, asking gently if she was okay, confused at her reaction to the end of the battle. But she'd only made a point of turning her back to them and sitting alone. Under normal circumstances, she'd be leading them to the Hanged Man and buying them all a pint. But now she wasn't sure if the Hanged Man even still existed. And even if it did, she couldn't imagine sitting amongst her friends and trying to act like she was holding it together.

Of all the times to have her heart shattered, to do so immediately after the longest, hardest battle of her life, and the destruction of the city she called home, just seemed extra cruel.

Of course Cullen wouldn't just leave the Order behind. She'd probably been a fool to believe that he ever actually would. It was likely that once they'd fled together, boarded the ships that he said he'd hated so much, that he'd have second thoughts, that he'd change his mind and try to return. He had duties, and he'd known nothing other than the Order since he was thirteen years old. Would it have been better to have the heartbreak come late? After she'd sent all her letters and bid her friends a last goodbye? Or was it better to have it just all done at once? So many old problems solved in one single day, and so many new ones just begun. It seemed petty that the loss of a man was the the straw that broke her back, after her hand in the Chantry explosion, after the carnage she and her friends just endured. After the rubble that their home was reduced to. But there it was. The tears streaming down her cheeks were not for the mages or Elthina or Kirkwall. They were for herself and her demolished, bloody heart. She allowed herself the boat ride to wallow, and when it finally docked in Kirkwall, she wiped her face dry and plunged once again into chaos, joining the mages there in mending wounds and digging people free, working til her fingers bled and no corner of Kirkwall had been left unturned.

* * *

Avery opened her Hightown door to Fenris, and he greeted her warmly as he walked inside, squinting into the darkness. The morning sun was bright beyond the door but the interior of her estate was only navigable by candle light. The blast from the Chantry had knocked out windows in all of Hightown, and hers were freshly boarded up, blocking out all but the smallest slivers of sun. Brutus pranced around the main room, wiggling a joyful hello at Fenris and clearly sensing that something momentous was about to happen.

Avery had her pack ready, fully loaded and sitting next to her new sofa. If she had known that sofa would have gotten so little use before it was draped in a sheet and left behind, she wouldn't have bothered buying it to begin with. She winced against a memory of a night sitting uncomfortably on the floor in front of her fire, of the scent of golden skin and hair as it rested up against her, and she hastened her movements, drawing her focus away from the emotional memory with physical action.

She rushed around, closing the doors to all the rooms in the house, and paused for a moment outside her mother's bedroom. Tentatively, hesitantly, she turned the latch and let the door swing open. She still hadn't set foot in the room since that terrible day a few years ago. It was Fenris who had entered in order to clean up the shattered glass and board the window the day before, but now finally she began her own first step inside.

It was dark, the glow of her candle flickering in the mirror above her mother's vanity, illuminating almost nothing else. The furniture remained only a collection of dark shadows along the walls, though Avery remembered exactly what was there. Her mother's hair brush still sat on the vanity, still full of strands of brown hair. A book sat on the bedside table, a ribbon marking the last page that she'd read. Her nightgown was draped over a chair in the corner. Avery took a deep breath, savoring the last floral wisps of the remaining scent of her mother, and she closed her eyes, conjuring up a picture of the way her mother had been before, wanting to see not the monstrosity she was turned into at the hands of the murderer, but the kind, laughing woman who had always been ready with a warm hug, and who'd remained her daughter's biggest cheerleader until her final day. Avery smiled sadly, and then backed out, closing the door once again.

Everything was done. It was three days since the fight at the Gallows, since the last time she had seen Cullen. Once the rescue attempt was over, which wasn't until well into the next day, she came directly home and before she bathed, before she slept, she'd finished what she was doing when Anders had let himself into her bedroom. Her clothes still sat in a pile on her bed, her half filled pack behind them. The letter from Orsino asking her to come to the Gallows sat upon the blanket. As weary and bloody as she was, she'd simply brushed away the dust and particles of glass, and kept packing as though nothing had ever interrupted her. She knew there was no way she could stay in Kirkwall, even if she'd wanted to. Fenris expected her to leave with him now, and that is what she would do.

The food in the larders had been donated to the victims' shelters. Bodahn and Sandal had departed the day before on a ship headed to Orlais. All the windows were boarded up and the vault had been locked tight. Aveline had keys to everything and would be kept apprised of their whereabouts. Varric assured them that somewhere down the line, he'd try to meet up with them. There was nothing left to do. She took one last look around her estate, bidding a quiet farewell to her old life.

"Are you ready?" Fenris asked.

Avery nodded and set down the candle, picking up her pack and securing it to her back. She still felt numb and drained, like she'd left a huge chunk of herself behind in the wreckage of the city somewhere. She still hadn't quite dealt with much of what happened at the Gallows, or allowed herself to feel any more of the loss of Cullen, of the future she'd imagined for them both for such a short, precious period of time. And she knew that it would likely work itself out of her system on the road, probably at some unexpected, inopportune moment. She'd warned Fenris of that and he was as understanding as always. He was, after all, no stranger to his own emotional roadblocks and disturbing memories. Avery knew that even if all he could offer was his quiet companionship in the face of her inevitable breakdown, it would be a comfort she would appreciate. Maybe she'd even finally tell Fenris the full truth of everything that had happened.

"Have you decided where we're going yet?" he asked.

"Let's go somewhere we've never been before," Avery answered. "What do you know about Nevarra?"

"I know that it is too close to Tevinter," he smirked unhappily.

"Antiva, then?"

"Also close to Tevinter."

"Yes but there are mountains in the way, aren't there?"

"Technically."

"Fine, then we'll just head west along the sea. As long as you're okay with the fact that we'll probably end up in Orlais," she said.

Fenris snorted. "And why would I mind Orlais? It is not near Tevinter."

"Oh, pomp and circumstance and all that. I never quite liked the whole mask business myself," Avery said.

"If it is that disagreeable then we'll just keep moving," he shrugged.

"Okay then." Avery sighed. She motioned Brutus out the door, and locked it up tight.


End file.
